James Potter and the White Horse
by BCJ1S
Summary: This is the first year of James at Hogwarts. Very few people have heard of Voldemort yet, during this year he will begin (but not complete) his rise to power.
1. Dawn

James Potter and the White Horse

Chapter 1: Dawn

A young boy sat alone on a tall black rock, surrounded by ocean.  He gazed intently at the slowly brightening horizon, staying completely still except for the slight motion of his black hair as the wind blew through it.  The gentle movement of the water around him reflected random patterns of light from the red sunrise onto his face.  The only sound was the soft splashing of the water against the lone rock and the occasional flap of the boy's long black cloak when the wind blew a little stronger.

He had been sitting there, his knees hugged to his chest, for hours.  The stars, once clear and bright, were slowly fading as the morning sunlight crowded them out.  The boy watched them disappear, focusing on a single star until it faded so much that it became indistinguishable from the sky around it, then choosing another.  As the last star vanished from the boy's sight, something finally stirred on the horizon.  At first, it was just a small dark fleck, only visible as a tiny shadow in the now burning sky.  The point of darkness gradually grew large enough that the boy did not have to strain his eyes to make it out; the shadow was clearly flying towards him.

He rose, a long branch, which had previously been concealed by his cloak, steadying him on the rock.  As he stood, the sun finally appeared over the horizon, further brightening the scene.  The intensity forced the boy to turn away for a moment.  He extended his free hand to cover the rising sun so he could find the dark shape in the sky.  Squinting against the glare of the sun on the water, he could just make out large wings beating infrequently as they glided swiftly toward him.

Soon James could see brown feathers, great black eyes, and a squarish tail; it was a large barn owl.  Just when it was close enough that all its features were clearly visible to the boy, the owl began to dive towards him, screeching loudly.  The large bird was still several yards above him when its wings lowered and it seemed almost to pause in midair.  At that moment, it released something small and flat from its talons.  It then pivoted quickly in the air and glided back in the direction from which it had come.

In a flash, the boy mounted the branch he had been holding and took off into the air himself.  The many twigs bound tightly to the rear of the branch quivered slightly in the wind.  He deftly caught the falling object before it had gone so much as a few feet.  The boy pivoted quickly, turning westward, away from the sunrise.  He held up the item where he could see it and smiled broadly.  It was an envelope of ancient-looking, yellowed parchment sealed with red wax.  On the front was written in beautiful, vivid green manuscript that glinted in the bright sunlight:

Mr. James Potter

Black Rock off the Coast

Azkaban Island

He tucked the envelope securely in the folds of his cloak and pressed forward with ever-greater speed.  Not far ahead of him, a lone island jutted up from the ocean.  Sheer cliffs dropped dramatically from great heights along the entire coastline.  The cliff faces were as beautiful as they were impressive.  Countless layers of stone were visible in them, each a distinct colour.  Vibrant veins of red and orange rock cut through the thicker layers of brown and grey and black.  In a few places, natural walls of rock extended from the island, unwilling to crumble to ages of erosion.  These created great pools of swirling ocean water which crashed, often quite violently, on the island's sides.  Away from the island itself stood several natural towers of stone.  The black rock where the boy had been sitting was the furthest of these from the island.

As if the island weren't impressive enough for its natural features, it was crowned with walls and towers made by men.  They were so skilfully fashioned that they seemed the almost inevitable extensions of the island's steep contours.  The stone and brick of the fortifications were unmistakably worn, both by time and by the scars of ancient battles.  Despite the wear, it was still a solid and commanding fortress.  As imposing as it was, it was also majestic, brightly lit by the morning sun and contrasting sharply with the dark blue morning sky behind it.  The simple motion of a few flags on some of the higher towers flapping in the breeze seemed to give life to the otherwise unmoving scene.

This fortress was clearly the goal of the young broom rider.  He soared swiftly and steeply towards it.  His hair blew wildly in every direction as the ocean air raced through it.  As he came to the fortress walls, he zoomed between the battlements, with only inches between him and brick on either side. Then, dropping suddenly into the courtyard, he deftly zigzagged through a maze of hedges in the garden and under a stream of water issuing from the mouth of a cement dolphin in a large fountain.  When he finally came to the entryway of the keep at the centre of the island's fortifications, he once again turned upward, scaling the side of one of the lesser turrets.  When he reached its peak, he grabbed hold of the flagpole and used it to spin himself towards the centre of the building.  He soon reached the tallest tower, which he began to circle as he ascended.  Near the top he began shouting at the top of his lungs, "It came!  It came!"

After a few moments, a tower window opened, revealing a very tired-looking man.  Despite his apparent fatigue, he stood tall and erect, his broad shoulders firm beneath dark blue robes.  A great mane of long, black hair hung just past his shoulders; a few strands of greying hair betrayed his age.  His face was pleasant and kind, but noticeably creased in places.  He took a deep breath of the chill morning air and exhaled slowly.

When the boy came around for his next pass, he stopped his broom in midair directly in front of the window, happily shouting, "Dad, it finally came!"

"All right then, James," his father replied, stifling a yawn and a chuckle, "Very good.  Come in and we'll have a look."

When his father turned away, James saw his chance.  He smiled and turned his broom towards the open window.  Before he could make any real progress, though, his father pulled a wand from the folds of his robe and spoke the word "Fecharus."  Immediately, the windows closed securely in front of James and he bumped the broom soundly into them.  His father turned, smiled at him through the glass, and pointed downward.

James sighed and then seemed to fall headlong off some unseen platform, spiralling as he descended.  Down the edge of the tower he sped, hugging the stone wall.  Abruptly, he turned horizontal, now hanging beneath his broomstick, his head arched back so he could see where he was going.  When he reached the outer edge of the keep, he headed steeply downward again.  Only moments from the ground, the boy froze, suspended upside-down in the air.  He let his feet fall backwards over his head and landed securely on the steps leading up to the entryway of the keep.  Catching his broom as it fell from above him, James began climbing the stairs.  The great iron portcullis and wooden doors opened for him as he approached and closed behind him when he had entered the front hall of the fortress.

No matter how many times he entered the front hall, James felt a sense of awe.  The fortress had been in his family for generations and hadn't been used for military purposes in ages.  Although he knew it had once figured importantly in several wars and other conflicts, James could barely imagine the corridors of this building filled with soldiers and echoing with the horrible sounds of death and war.  It was such a comfortable and hospitable place to him.  Grand torches kept the halls and chambers warm and bright.  The walls were decorated with art collected by the Potters over centuries.

The front hall was the one exception.  It was kept well lit, but was rarely at a comfortable temperature.  It was also sparsely decorated; only a single piece of ornamentation was visible in the room.  At the top of the staircase that led from the front hall into the rest of the fortress hung an enormous and ancient tapestry.  It depicted the famous battle known as Als Chæm's Bane, in which Pharsicos, an ancestor of James (although he could never remember how many generations back), held off a weeklong siege by hordes of goblins without reinforcements to his small group of men.  That victory was a turning point in the conflict and effectively ended the rebellion.  Pharsicos was rewarded for his success with the deed to the fortress he had defended so bravely.  The fortress soon came to be known by the same name as the battle.  Over the generations it became simply Azkaban.

As James climbed the steps towards the tapestry, it suddenly began to unravel.  In just a few seconds, the entire image had unwoven itself.  Just as quickly, the tapestry was whole again.  However, this time the image was quite different; instead of the vast battle scene was the coat of arms of Pharsicos.  The shield in the centre of the arms was red, split by a black chevron.  A tower and an open-palmed hand, both gold, were displayed above the chevron.  Below it was an ascending phoenix with wings outstretched, also golden, clutching three broken white arrows in its talons.  A black helmet with a golden chaplet rested on the shield.  A lion on his hind legs to the right of the shield and a hippocampus on the left seemed to support the shield.  A long white ribbon below everything else bore the family motto, "Even from the ashes, we will rise again."

Tapestries that spontaneously came undone were hardly strange to James.  Nearly all of the artwork in the fortress was magically bestowed with life.  There were sculptures that changed shape when they thought no one was looking, suits of armour that wandered the halls at night, rugs that would occasionally get up and beat the dust out of themselves, and paintings whose subjects moved and even talked.  Confined as the paintings were to the walls of the fortress, they all knew each other's stories by heart.  Conversation among them was therefore largely confined to whatever titbits and rumours they could glean about the unpainted world.  Anything new was a worthwhile opportunity for fresh gossip and spread throughout the fortress in a flash.

As such, word of James' letter reached nearly every inhabitant of the Potter art collection within minutes of his brief conversation with his father.  As James passed by, portraits of various great-great-uncles and third-cousins-four-times-removed shouted congratulations to him.

"Fine job, boy," said a pleasant painting of a blonde woman with a parasol.

"Stay out of mischief," instructed an imposing portrait of a tall man with a long black beard.

A nearby portrait of a minstrel seemed offended.  "He wouldn't be our James if he did that, now would he?" he retorted.  "Don't get me wrong, James," the minstrel continued, turning to the boy, "You're a bright boy and should mind your studies, but there's no reason not to have fun as well.  You only get this opportunity once, and not everyone even gets that much."  James promised he'd do his best and continued onward.

The many well-wishers significantly slowed his progress, but he quite naturally enjoyed the attention.  Although the people in the paintings were mere echoes of their true-life counterparts, James was pleased that these shadows of his ancestry were pleased with him.  Accordingly, he didn't mind the delay, at least no too much.  One particularly long-winded painting was a few minutes into a detailed account of when he had received a letter of his own when James was forced to interrupt him and continue to the great room of the fortress.

The commotion in the great room was audible even when James was still at the other end of a large corridor from it.  At first it was just a faint murmur, but as he approached, it grew steadily loader and more distinct.  He was soon able to make out the occasional burst of laughter; then he could distinguish a man shouting, "Hello!" and a woman shrieking, "I can't believe it!"  When he reached the door, he could clearly hear part of a conversation just on the other side of the large double doors.  "Well, of course we all pretty much knew," commented a male voice, "still, it's quite an honour, and a good excuse to get together and celebrate."

"Quite," responded a voice James immediately recognized as belonging to his grandfather.  "And I have the distinct feeling that the guest of honour is at the point of arriving."  Just as he said this, James had caught hold of the great brass door handle.  For all its size and apparent weight, the young boy was able to swing the large wooden door open without any difficulty.

As he opened the door, the first person he saw was his grandfather, who was looking directly at the door, arms outstretched, evidently expecting James' entry.  "Well, don't just stand there," he said, "come give your old grandfather a hug."  James' grandfather had been a very tall and powerfully built man in his youth.  Age had decreased his physical stature somewhat, but when James went to hug him, the old man was able to lift the young boy off the ground with apparent ease.  He set James down and smiled broadly, the smile further creasing his very elongated face.

In leaning to embrace the boy the old man's hat had fallen off, revealing that he was almost completely bald; only a small amount of short white hair covered the sides of his head.  James bent down to pick up the small green hat, which was made of some sort of reptilian hide that felt a good deal softer and smoother than it looked.  Without a head to support its shape, it had folded and collapsed flat on the ground, reminding James a little of the parchment hats his grandfather sometimes made for him.  But this hat wasn't pointy like the paper ones; the seam where it had folded was round.  As James parted the rim of the hat and placed it on his own head, he realized that it also reminded him of the flat pita bread he often used for sandwiches.  The boy's unkempt hair compensated somewhat for the small size of his head, helping the hat maintain its shape.  Despite this, the creased fold in the hat made a more pronounced ridge on the boy's smaller head than it had on his grandfather's.

The old man smiled and put his arm around James, who grinned widely as he looked up at his grandfather and then around the room at the half dozen or so visitors there.  Before he could say hello to any of them, he felt something moving on top of his head.  At first he thought it was his grandfather tousling his hair, but suddenly remembered he was wearing a hat.  The movement continued and he peered upward, only to see the head of a medium-sized lizard looking back at him over his forehead.  Both the boy and the lizard seemed very alarmed at what they saw.  James immediately jumped, jostling the lizard from its perch in his hair and onto the floor.  It quickly righted itself and began running frantically across the floor.

It hadn't gotten far when James' grandfather flicked his wand and said "_Accio_."  The lizard's legs moved more frantically trying to get away as it lifted off the ground and began floating backwards.  Even as it floated through the air, the transfiguration began to loose its hold and the lizard began to change shape.  Its legs retracted and eventually disappeared completely.  The animal's spine became more and more pronounced as it turned again into the hat's creased seam.  By the time it got back to its owner the hat had completely returned to its original state.  James' grandfather replaced it on his own head and winked at James.  Truth told, the hat did seem less out of place with his elegant green robes than it had with James' plain black cloak.

"You two are exactly the same," laughed a nearby young man, "completely incorrigible."  James turned to see who had spoken.  It was his uncle Pell, who had been talking with his grandfather just before James had come into the room.

Both James and his grandfather stared at him with exaggerated mock indignation and replied simultaneously, "I am nothing like _him_!"  The three of them laughed and continued together to the centre of the large room.

The rectangular room had once been the war room of the fortress where leaders would gather to plan and strategize.  It was situated in the most fortified part of the keep, being also the room of last retreat, and as such it had no windows.  Despite the lack of natural light, it had been converted in to a very pleasant living area.  Four enormous brass chandeliers floated in mid-air, lighting even the lofty heights of the room.  Brass supports attached to the walls of the room held shallow stone bowls that were perpetually filled with white flames.  The most impressive light in the room, however, came from the large fireplace, situated in the centre of the long north wall.  Three large sofas and two overstuffed chairs surrounded the giant brown bear rug at the foot of the fireplace.  The eclectic variety of furniture around the periphery of the room spoke of its many uses.  In one corner stood a grand piano; opposite it on the south wall was an oak cabinet with a handsome silver tea service.  A large, patterned tapestry covered most of the wall between them. An impressive wooden chess table, perhaps in homage to the room's original use, stood in front of the tapestry with comfortable chairs on either side.  Several paintings, an antique globe that rotated on an invisible axis, and other decorations completed the room's atmosphere of comfortable elegance.  Even with all of this, there was plenty of room for the large assembly of people who had gathered there.

James scanned the familiar faces of the gathering, smiling and waving when they looked his way.  His uncle Caliborne and aunt Fann were with their twins Bridget and Brian talking with his aunt Ganieda, Pell's wife.  The twins were three years older than James and looked like they would rather talk with him than be stuck with the adults.  James just grinned and shrugged when he caught their eyes.  As he continued to explore the crowd of faces, he saw his three-year-old sister Katherine sitting on a large couch playing with their maternal grandfather, Blaise Ambrose.  His wife, James' grandmother Guenevere, was at the far corner of the room sipping tea and chatting with his three great-aunts, Joyce, Evelyn and Edith Potter.

All of the three sisters were older than James' grandfather, Alfred (whom they still called their "kid brother"), but they had all aged very gracefully.  James had been told that they had been stunningly beautiful in their youth, besides being full of vitality and energy.  They had always been the life of any party and had more suitors than they could count.  It came as a great surprise to nearly everyone who knew them when, one by one, they each married widowers who already had children of their own.  What caused even more astonishment was the fact that all their husbands were "Muggles"; in other words, they possessed no shred of magical talent.  Despite the gossip that inevitably followed, Joyce, Evelyn, and Edith each in turn left—some said abandoned—the magical world to marry Muggle husbands, raise Muggle families, and lead Muggle lives.  Many years had since passed and now that their husbands had passed away and their stepchildren had moved out, they had been able to reintegrate into magical society.  They were once again as social as ever…at least until someone mentioned how odd it was that they should all have followed the same unexpected path.  Anyone so foolish had to deal with a very sudden, very awkward silence.  They were very serious about keeping their two worlds separate.  No one in the magic world had ever met their Muggle families, who were in turn completely in the dark about the existence of magic, particularly the fact that their dearly loved matriarchs were in fact witches.

James for his part simply couldn't fathom what it would be like to grow up completely ignorant of magic.  He took it for granted not only that it existed, but also that every adult in the room was a trained witch or wizard.  Although he hadn't yet been trained to create his own magic yet, James had been using enchanted objects (like his flying broom) his whole life.  Occasionally he did make things happen on his own, but only when he lost control of his emotions.  Once, when he was younger and still deathly afraid of water, he had turned his bathwater into mud before his mother could get him in it.  Another time, he fell off his broom and would have smashed himself on a large rock if it hadn't suddenly turned into a cushion.  Even these occurrences were fairly unremarkable in the only world James had ever known.  He was occasionally startled by something magical, but that was pretty rare (unless, of course, Grandfather Potter was around).  It didn't surprise him now that his father, Henry, appeared out of thin air behind one of the sofas, that his sister was now chasing a chocolate frog across the room, or that his mother, Matilda, was carrying on a conversation with a head in the fireplace.

The head in the intense flames of the fire belonged to James' aunt Diane, who lived in London.  A magical connection between the fireplace here and Diane's own fireplace allowed the two women to converse face to face without either leaving home.  "We'll be over as soon as Lee gets back," James overheard Diane's head say.  "He was called away _seven_ hours ago on another…emergency."  Her expression became noticeably more strained as she spoke.

James' mother gasped.  "Goodness, Diane.  Again?"  Diane just sighed and nodded.

There was a brief pause as Diane bit her lip nervously.  "He's never been gone this long on a middle of the night call before," she whispered.  Her head then pivoted sharply, appearing to look at the back of the fireplace.  "I think I just heard him pop in," she said turning back towards James' mother.  "We'll be there in a flash."

"Take your time," she replied.  "The letter's not going anywhere.  We're still waiting on Keaton and Laura, so…" Matilda paused as a realization struck her.  "Oh dear!  They've got to use the fireplace to get here with Gavin and I've been tying it up all this time.  See you soon, Diane,"

"Bye," she said quickly before disappearing with a faint, but audible, pop.

Only a few seconds later, the fire suddenly turned bright green.  James' mother barely had time to move out of the way before an eight-year-old boy emerged from the fireplace.  "Hello Gavin," she said cheerfully to him as she took hold of his hand and led him out of the way.

"Our fireplace spat me back out six times before I got here," said the young boy.  "Knocked Dad over the first time."

"I'm sorry Gavin," she apologized, although she thought he was more likely bragging than complaining.  As she spoke, a rather short man popped out of the fireplace.  As much to him as to the boy, she explained, "I was talking with Aunt Diane and forgot I was blocking the fireplace."

The man just smiled as he stepped away from the fire and said, "Figured as much.  I was going to just pop in here and find out when we could make it through the floo, but Gavin wouldn't hear of it.  Insisted on trying again and again until it worked."

A moment later Gavin's mother came through the fireplace, completing the young family.  James father approached her with his arms outstretched.  "Laura," he said to her, "It's wonderful to see you."

As they embraced, she replied facetiously, "I was beginning to think my own big brother was trying to keep me out of his home."

"And risk the wrath of the best Beater in British Quidditch?" he retorted with mock shock.  "Not likely!"

"Henry always has had a way of flattering his way out of anything," she said, turning to James' mother, who then winked at Henry.

"Don't I know it?" she laughed.

Just then, two rather loud pops announced the arrival of Lee and Diane Potter.  Diane still looked rather worried and Lee looked positively beat, like someone who has survived a disaster and is just regaining consciousness.  Nevertheless, they both wore smiles, evidently determined not to let whatever was affecting them disturb the happy occasion.

"Well, it looks as though we're all here," said James' father loudly enough to overcome the noise of the continuing conversations.  When they died down, he continued, "We're always pleased to have family in our home, but most especially today.  Thank you all for making the effort to be here with us for this most exciting event in young James' life.  You all know I could easily keep talking for hours, particularly when it comes to my son, but I will forbear."  Several people chuckled quietly and nodded.  Henry turned to his son, "James, this is your day.  We're all here for you."

Everyone clapped as they moved to sit down or stand near the sofas.  James was left to sit in a chair that his father had brought in front of the fireplace.  He was surrounded by his extended family.  This was a moment he had been waiting for as long as he could remember, his first rite of passage into young adulthood.  There were many important people in his extended family and it was no small task to get them all together.  James knew he had to savour this experience because it was a once in a lifetime occasion.

When he had carefully scanned the room, trying to fix every detail in his memory, he reached inside his cloak to pull out his letter…but it wasn't there.  He stood and began frantically trying to find it elsewhere in the folds of his cloak, but was unsuccessful.  Just as he seemed about ready to panic completely, his grandfather Potter, who had been walking towards him, arrived at his side.  He reached his hand behind the boy's left ear and when he brought it back, he was holding the letter.  James snatched it from him and tried his best to look angry.  He failed miserably.

"Forgive me, James," said his grandfather, chuckling "I couldn't help myself. Didn't even use magic; just sleight of hand."

James then turned the back of the envelope towards himself and, sliding his finger under the flap, broke the crimson wax seal.  He opened the envelope and pulled out two folded sheets of parchment.  After unfolding them to reveal script written with the same iridescent green ink that addressed the envelope, he read the text aloud:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL

_of_ WITCHCRAFT _and_ WIZARDRY

------------

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(_Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,_

_Supreme Mugwump, International Confe. Of Wizards_)

Dear Mr. Potter,

            We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.  Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

            Term begins on September 1.  We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

Arabella Figg,

-Deputy Headmistress 

Everyone applauded vigorously; several of them (particularly Brian) cheered loudly for James' acceptance.  James, although grateful, was somewhat uncomfortable with all of the attention.  Trying to direct it away from himself, he turned to Grandfather Potter.  "Isn't Albus Dumbledore my dad's godfather?  I know I've heard you mention his name before."

"Yes, James," he replied, "Albus is a close friend of mine from ages ago.  He's a great man who will teach you a great deal if you will pay close attention.  His lessons are often…subtle.  Don't think that you'll get special treatment from him just because you're my grandson, though.  He will let you earn or lose his respect on your own merits."  He paused briefly, then said, "But that's enough of that.  You'll meet him soon enough yourself.  On to your supplies, James."

James smiled broadly, knowing what was coming next for him.  He pulled out the second sheet of parchment and began reading:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL

_of_ WITCHCRAFT _and_ WIZARDRY

------------

UNIFORM

First-year students will require:

1.    Three sets of plain work robes (black)

2.    One plain pointed hat (black) for daily wear

3.    One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)

4.    One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)

Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry nametags.

COURSE BOOKS

First-year students will require:

_The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)_ by Miranda Goshawk

_A History of Magic_ by Bathilda Bagshot

_Magical Theory_ by Aldalbert Waffling

_A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_ by Emeric Switch

_One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ by Phyllida Spore

_Magical Drafts and Potions_ by Arsenius Jigger

_Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ by Newt Scamander

_The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_ by Quentin Trimble

OTHER EQUIPMENT

1 wand

1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)

1 set glass or crystal phials

1 set brass scales

Students may bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad

Due to safety concerns, first-year students are discouraged from bringing their own broom.

"Good ol' unchanging Hogwarts," said James uncle, Pell Mercer.  "They haven't hardly changed anything since I got my own letter."  He stood and made his way eagerly to James, pulling a large package seemingly out of nowhere.  "Let me be the first to offer a token of my family's congratulations.  We're proud of you, James."  He handed the neatly wrapped gift to James, who eagerly began unwrapping it.  Pell just stood there, looking almost more enthusiastic about the whole event than even James.  Since he was the only magical member of his family and had only recently married James' aunt, this was the first time he had seen a relative accepted at Hogwarts.  He was clearly enjoying the experience.

Once James got past the rather overzealous wrapping job, he was able to open the box.  Inside, he found some folded black cloth, which was hardly surprising since Pell was a magical clothing merchant.  What did surprise James was how much of it there was.  He had been given everything he needed for his uniform: robes, hat and cloak.  They were of superb quality too.  "Best stuff I got, James," said his uncle proudly, "hand-tailored just for you.  Guaranteed to fit perfectly and never wrinkle or tear.  The fabric's light as a feather too, but don't worry, it'll keep you right comfortable no matter the weather.  Go ahead; try it on.  See if that's not the best robe you've ever worn."  He began to help James into one of the robes, then stopped in mid motion, "What's gotten into me, acting like a regular salesman here, when it's not called for.  You don't have to try it on; it's a gift for goodness sake.  The point is, it's the best we have to offer and we're just as pleased as can be to do it."

"No, I want to," said James, pulling the robe on the rest of the way.  "It's wonderful, and it makes it all feel more real somehow when I put it on.  Thank you—and you too Ganieda."

James' cousin Brian came up next.  "Complements of the Caliborne and Fann Ambrose Family," he said in an exaggeratedly formal voice, handing two packages to James.  "Bridget and I helped Dad make them," he said with pride.

"Don't worry," called Caliborne, who was a metalworker by trade, "I didn't let 'em help too much.  Everything should be perfectly safe."  The twins tried their best to look annoyed at their father.  James was too busy opening the first box to notice.  He already had a sword made by his uncle that he had learned to fence with and was looking forward to his gift.  When he looked in the box, he had to hide a little disappointment.  It held what appeared to be a plain pewter cauldron.

"We got Dad to add a hidden compartment," whispered Brian, "completely impervious to heat.  Bridget and I took the liberty of stocking it with Filibusters."  He winked conspiratorially at James, whose smile widened.

"Thanks," he replied and began opening the smaller package.  It contained a short silver scabbard with attached to a black leather belt.  The scabbard had been beautifully crafted in the shape of an icicle.  He pulled it out carefully.

"I'll explain this one," said Caliborne, "Your wand will be your most precious and valuable tool as a wizard, James.  This scabbard, besides having great beauty thanks to your talented aunt, has important function given it by me.  It will hold your wand securely, whatever its size, where you can readily retrieve it.  And it will only release the wand into _your_ hand."

James was impressed.  "This is great," he said.  "Thank you."

Gavin wasted no time in making his way to James.  He was carrying a small package under his left arm and holding up what was clearly a covered birdcage.  James smiled in excited anticipation.  Gavin's small arms were obviously taxed by his burden, but he was doing his best not to show it.  James' father sent a small end table to him with a flip of his wand.  Gavin set the cage down on it and pulled off the covering.  "Wegotchyanowl!" he said excitedly.

The bird in the cage was a magnificent medium-sized owl.  Its feathers were a randomly scattered assortment of shades of brown ranging from nearly black to nearly white.  Downy whitish feathers swept away from its bright yellow eyes and thin, black beak in a smooth heart shape, which was in turn bordered by longer and browner feathers that completed its facial disk.  The owl was quite round, with no visible ear tufts disrupting the smooth, spherical contour of its head.  It seemed to lean forward on its perch, as if ready to take off at any moment.

"It's an _Asio flammeus_," said Gavin's father Keaton.  "Otherwise known as the evening owl.  Trained him myself, I did.  Bit of a troublemaker, this one, but I never saw a bird that took more joy in flight.  Takes his job seriously too.  Knew at once that he ought to be yours.  Take good care of him, James, and I know he'll never let you down."

"He's perfect," said James, entranced.  As far as he was concerned, there could have been no better pet than this owl.  The fact that it could carry his post for him was only an added bonus.  He reached for the latch of the cage so he could reach in and pet the bird.

"Best wait 'til you've opened the other package," interrupted Keaton.  James pulled away from the cage and the owl cocked his head slightly and hooted softly.  James thought he sounded disappointed.  Gavin then presented the other package to James, who quickly opened it.  It held a pair of brown leather gloves.  "Those'll be useful when you handle him," continued James' uncle.  "He's got a mighty strong grip."  Keaton had begun subconsciously massaging his own wrist.

"They also happen to come in handy when you're playing Quidditch," added Aunt Laura.  "No glove has a better grip."

James put the gloves on and again reached for the latch.  He was a little disappointed not to be able to pet the owl's soft feathers with his bare hand, but decided to follow his uncle's advice.  No sooner had his hand begun entering the cage than the owl lunged forward and bit his hand.  "Ow!" shouted James as he jerked his hand back.  It hadn't really hurt, but had startled him somewhat.  He soon realized that had been the owl's intention.  As soon as James' hand was out of the way, it flew out of the cage and up to the ceiling.  It flew with amazing precision in the close quarters of the room.  A band of dark feathers was clearly visible near the edges of its lightly coloured underwings.  Its soft hooting sounded something like a distant steam engine.  A single loop around the room seemed to satisfy its need to be admired.  It returned to James, landing gracefully on his left wrist.

"See?" said Keaton, "He knows who his friend is now.  Go on, James.  He'll never hurt you…on purpose."  With that encouragement, James pulled his right glove off and stroked the owls head gently.  The owl hooted appreciatively.

"All right," said James to the owl.  "It's time for you to go back in your cage."  He began to move his hand back towards its door.  Before he made it there, the owl took off again, this time into the cage.  As if to show it could be civil, it sat quietly on its perch and appeared to nod respectfully to James.  The boy smiled at his new owl as he closed the latch.

"Well," said James' uncle Lee, "It appears our gifts are next.  I'm afraid that as practical as I am, they won't excite you nearly as much as those you have already received…at least not yet."  He began walking with an armful of packages towards James.  "There is an often underappreciated power in even common magical substances, many of which have several uses."  James knew that a good part of Lee's renown as a magical physician was his knowledge of the magical properties of countless substances and his ability to use them creatively in unusual situations.  "The best way to learn this," continued Lee, "is through personal experience and experiment."  He handed the packages to James, who excitedly opened them to find a mortal and pestle, brass scales, a set of crystal phials, and a wide and generous supply of various magical powders, extracts, herbs, animal innards, etc.  Some were quite common, others rather hard to come by.

"Wow," said James once he had finished looking through everything.  "This is like my own private apothecary.  Any ideas on where to start?"

"A wise question," replied Lee.  "Start simple and go from there.  You might begin with beetle eyes, for example.  If you run out, they're pretty easy to replace."  Lee returned to his wife's side and James thanked them both.

James' great-aunts decided they would go next.  They had all chipped in to get him an elegant silver pocket watch.  The front face opened to show the time and date and included a chronograph that could be used to time things.  What made this watch somewhat unusual was that the rear face opened as well.  It was a celestial timepiece that showed the phase of the moon and a small, but minutely detailed depiction of the constellations currently in the sky.  "Even if clouds, or walls, or the sun's own brightness shield the stars from your eyes," said Evelyn, "you will always know which are above you." James expressed his gratitude to them for the coolest watch he had ever seen.

Grandmother Guen, who had been sitting next to the three sisters, was the next to stand.  Her tall, slender frame was draped in silvery robes, almost the colour of the moon.  She was a powerful and renowned enchantress who, even in her advancing age, maintained an air of nobility and authority that quite frankly intimidated young James.  She had received important (and often very confidential) commissions from magical individuals, governments, and other enterprises worldwide.  However, none of this had made her very wealthy.  She chose her tasks based on their necessity and challenge, refusing monetary payment of any kind.  Instead, anyone who accepted her assistance owed her a favour comparable to her service in time and effort.  Experience had long since proved to her that even a poor man's help is often more valuable than any amount of gold.  Early on, there had been some who had tried to take advantage of this arrangement, but they came to regret it.  Now, witches and wizards of all walks of life were willingly in her debt.

James was fascinated by the prospect of perhaps receiving an enchanted gift from his grandmother.  He had of course received many presents from his grandmother over the years, but had always been deemed to young for anything that had genuinely required the breadth of her talent and power.  Something about the gleam in her intense eyes at that moment told James he was about to receive something exceptional.  "Your grandfather and I had a difficult time deciding what to get for you, James," she said, walking toward him with a small package in her hands.  "This is a time unlike any other in a young wizard's life.  You are becoming a man.  We felt you ought to have something extraordinary, a gift that would have great value to you, and would reflect a portion of each of us.  Ultimately, we wanted to feel a part of your magical development in a personal and memorable way." 

Now James' mind was racing; what gift could possibly reflect both Grandmother Guen the enchantress and her husband, Grandfather Blaise the writer?  As long as James could remember, his grandfather had never given him anything but books.  Not that he minded, Blaise had a gift for picking exactly those books that would captivate James' interest and imagination.  He had anticipated receiving several required textbooks from his grandfather and perhaps an intriguing additional book or two.  Now, given this introduction, it was clear he was about to receive something much more remarkable.

The aging woman walked slowly, but deliberately.  When she finally reached James, she paused for just a moment, statue-like, just long enough to let the weight of her presence impress on the boy the importance of the event.  Then, she smiled down on him and produced a box.  James accepted the package from his grandmother and carefully unwrapped the tissue paper from it.  Pulling the box open, he saw it contained a thin stack of parchment and a black quill, held together by a ribbon.  He pulled it out so everyone could see, then looked to his grandmother for further explanation.  "This is much more than simple parchment, James," she continued, "as I'm sure you have already guessed.  It's called Vacuous Parchment.  You see, certain magical books and scrolls require enchanted parchment that not only records the words that are written on it, but also responds to written instructions.  Mass-produced books like that horrible _Monster Book of Monsters_, which has instructions to behave like a beast, require only crude parchment for crude effects.  This is relatively easy to prepare and has very limited usefulness beyond entertainment.  I suggest that you obtain and practice with some of that material because the parchment we are giving you is incalculably more rare and potent.  You now have ten sheets of it as well as your grandfather's favourite magic quill.  Use them carefully and wisely."

James was at a loss for words; his mind now raced with the new range of possibilities that were available to him.  He set the gift gingerly back in its box as though handling it might cause it to crumble.  He managed a "Thanks" and a smile towards his grandparents when Guen had again sat down.

The reverent silence in the room was abruptly broken when Grandfather Alfred stood.  "Well, James," he began, "I knew I couldn't possibly compete with the other gifts you would receive, so I decided not to bring one."  Alfred sat down and waited for James' expression to go from sceptical amusement to confused disbelief and finally to a bad attempt at hiding disappointment before continuing.  "However, I see that you still don't have a wand, which is hardly surprising since none of us could very well pick one out for you.  It occurs to me that I have to go to London tomorrow in any event.  I don't suppose you would like to come with me to visit my friend, Mr. Ollivander, in his shop on Diagon Alley?"  James excitedly indicated that he would.  "Now, I'm afraid I can't return until evening, so you'd be stuck with an odd old man all day.  Still interested?"

"Are you joking?" laughed James.  "You'll really take me to London for the whole day?"

"Who said anything about restricting ourselves to London?  I just said we wouldn't be back _here_ until evening."  James smile widened almost to the point of causing pain.  Alfred turned to his son Henry, "You'd better give James your gift and cheer him up before he gets any more depressed."

"I was just thinking the same thing," said Henry who stood and began walking to the door.  "I'll be right back with it."  He opened the door and walked quickly away without closing it behind him.

"James," said his mother, "you know we're very proud of you and excited to see you growing up into a fine young man.  At the same time, it's difficult for parents to see their child leave their care.  At Hogwarts, you will often be supervised by adults, but will be more on your own than you have ever been.  Your father and I believe you are up to the responsibility and have decided to give you a family heirloom as a token of our trust."

At that moment, Henry swirled into view immediately in front of James.  The boy was used to people popping into existence, but this entrance was quite different.  He soon realized that his father hadn't magically Apparated into the room.  He had entered the room imperceptibly, hidden by an invisibility cloak, only becoming visible when he took it off.  He now extended the cloak to James.  "This cloak has been in the Potter family for generations," he said.  "Now it belongs to you."

James took the now visible cloak from his father's hand.  It was a beautiful silvery colour that reminded him of what it looked like when the full moon shone through his bedroom window, sparkling off the dust particles floating in the air.  He thought that if someone could weave those rays into fabric, it would look and feel like this.  Standing, he wrapped the cloak around himself and disappeared completely.  The cloak draped quite loosely around him.  It would clearly take some time for him to really grow into it.

He carefully took the invisibility cloak off and set it carefully on the chair behind him.  He gave his father and mother each a big hug.  He was completely speechless.  No Christmas, birthday, or other day he could remember could compare with this day.  And not just because he had gotten amazing gifts (although they were also beyond belief), but just standing there surrounded by people who clearly cared so much for him, everything seemed right with the world.  James wanted to freeze that moment and never let anything change.  He couldn't ever imagine being happier.


	2. Of Magic and Muggles

Chapter 2: Of Magic and Muggles

Knobbles, the Potters' house-elf, had prepared a regular banquet for all of the visitors, even though he had only been asked to provide a light brunch.  He was getting quite old, even for a house elf, but couldn't stand the thought of the Potters easing his responsibilities.  Lately, he had become terribly suspicious of anything that appeared, even remotely, to be coddling.  The family simply couldn't win trying to do right by the old elf.  They worried about the strain he put himself under, but anything they tried to do to help only insulted him and encouraged him to work even harder.  All they could do was thank him as often as possible.  He would always shrug it off, saying something like, "Knobbles is only doing his job."  Still, they knew him well enough to see that he appreciated it.

The food was wonderful, as always, but for once James wasn't overly interested in eating.  That is, of course, not to say that he skipped food; he just scoffed it down so quickly that he hardly tasted it.  His father had always teased him about his ravenous appetite.  "He must have a fair amount of magic in him," Henry liked to say.  "He can make food disappear like no one I've ever seen."  James would pause just long enough to look up and roll his eyes before returning to the task at hand.  Fortunately, James was active enough that no matter how much he ate, he never got even slightly chubby.  In fact, he was so wiry that his grandmother Guen always seemed concerned that he wasn't eating _enough_.

Brian had eaten his fill nearly as quickly as James and the two were soon in his bedroom looking through all of his gifts.  Knobbles had taken the liberty of putting them all there while the family was eating.  James' rooms were in the tower just northeast of his parents—close enough for them to keep an eye on him but isolated enough for him to have some privacy.  They were high enough that he was glad not to have had to lug all his stuff up there himself.

Brian was busy showing James how to use the secret compartment in his cauldron when they heard Gavin coming.  He was still a ways off, but they had no difficulty hearing the echo of his shouts.  "Hey, are you up here?  James? Brian?  What are you doing?"  Brian sighed and rolled his eyes at James, who just grinned back and then turned his eyes to the invisibility cloak.  Neither of them had ever used one before, but this seemed like the perfect opportunity.  James grabbed the cloak and the two boys made for the door.  Brian opened it as silently as he could and shut it just as carefully when they had passed through.  They managed to get the cloak on and get out of the way just before Gavin's head appeared in the circular stairwell.  When he went to the door, the invisible boys slipped behind him and down the stairs.

They heard Gavin knock on the door and call into James' room.  "Come on!  Let me in!" he pleaded.  "I know you're in there.  Your mum said so."  When Gavin was silent for a few seconds, James and Brian froze in their tracks to make sure they heard him if he started coming down.  Instead they heard him call out one final time in desperation, "James!  Why won't you ever play with me?  Why do you hate me?"  This time Gavin sounded close to tears.  James felt a pang of guilt and was tempted for a moment to go back and get Gavin.  He quickly pushed the thought away though, convincing himself that Gavin would only get more upset if he found out that they _had_ intentionally avoided him.  Better to get away so he would think they hadn't been in the room at all.  Besides, he thought, there's no way Gavin could really be as upset as he sounded.  He was probably just putting on an act, trying to take advantage of James' compassion.  It only took him a moment to decide that he wouldn't be fooled by Gavin's crybaby act.  He and Brian turned and quickly made their way to the bottom of the tower.

They decided to explore the corridors of the fortress shrouded by the cloak.  Both boys were curious to see if the paintings acted differently when they thought there was no one around.  As they went, they passed through the great room, entering quietly through a door that had been left ajar.  They almost failed to notice James' father and his uncle, Lee, who were talking softly in the corner of the room.  James signalled to Brian under the cloak that they should go over and surprise the two men.  They quietly crept toward the chairs where Henry and Lee were sitting and when they got close enough, they could hear bits of their low conversation.

"You couldn't save him then?" whispered Henry.

"No," replied Lee in a tired voice clearly filled with frustration.  "This is the sixth we've had to deal with, the third in a month, but it's the first we couldn't revive.  Whoever is doing this is getting better at it with each attempt.  Today he succeeded in killing a man."

James and Brian stopped dead in their tracks.  Brian gave James a look that clearly said he thought they ought to leave, but James signalled to him to wait.  The conversation continued.

"And the Aurors don't have any idea what's going on?" asked Henry.

"They don't have any suspects. No one who survived remembers having seen or heard the assailant, so they don't even have a physical description to go on."  Lee sighed.

Henry looked surprised.  "Surely, they've been able to piece together some sort of profile for this killer after six incidents."

"In every case a Muggle was targeted in a public place.  Dozens saw the green flash of the death curse, but none could identify its source."  Lee paused for a moment, thinking.  "There were no other similarities they could find.  The victims and locations seemed to be picked at random."

"Wonderful," replied Henry sarcastically.  "You're saying that there is some mad Muggle-hater out there with a penchant for murder and creating public hysteria."

"That's what the Aurors thought at first," said Lee quietly.  "But this one…  He's too careful, too methodical.  If he just wanted Muggles dead, why risk the crowd?  And if he wanted to create hysteria, why just the single curse?  Besides, the crowds have always been manageable.  Granted, I don't envy the Obliviators their job.  Modifying all those memories was a tough job I'm sure.  All the same, it was always well within their capabilities.  It doesn't seem like he wants what he's doing to get out.  And with no real leads to report, the Ministry of Magic has been obliged to keep this all under wraps."

James suddenly realized that he had stopped breathing.  With great effort he was able to open his airways and take a silent, cautious breath.  Although he was beginning to wish that he hadn't stuck around to hear all of this, at this point he was frozen in place.  As much effort as it had taken just to inhale, he didn't think he could have moved if he tried.  Glancing sidelong at Brian, he had the impression that his cousin was similarly paralysed.

"Lee," pressed Henry, leaning forward.  "What is going on with all of this?  You clearly know more than you've said; and you must want to tell me or you wouldn't have brought it up.  What's this really about, Lee?"

Lee relented.  "Alastor has a theory he's been pushing from the beginning.  With his reputation for blowing things out of all proportion, most everyone ignored him until recently.  The continued attacks have forced the Ministry to take him seriously."  It was clear that Lee found this theory so profoundly disturbing that he was having difficulty getting it out.  "He believes that the attacker is an assassin in training, that he is just…rehearsing.  Alastor, who is something of an expert on the Unforgivable Curses, thinks that an intelligent would-be killer might well use this kind of preparation to guarantee success in a more important, and more dangerous, later attempt…likely an attempt on a wizard."

After a short pause to take in what Lee was suggesting, Henry spoke.  "I'm not sure what to say.  I appreciate your trust, Lee.  I'm troubled of course, but I wish I could say I was more surprised.  The cases I have been involved with recently have been getting progressively more unpleasant."  James' father was an Advocate, a wizard trained in magical law who represented both accused and accusers at trial.  James knew that over the past several months his father had seemed more fatigued by the cases to which he was assigned, but had no idea that he was this disturbed by them.

Henry continued, "I am increasingly convinced that there is in fact a rising darkness in our world.  Others who have said so of late have been labelled fear-mongers, who see conspiracies in every shadow.  Although it is subtle and elusive, I feel it encroaching on our security.  We try to conceal it so that we can go about our lives normally, but I fear that it is thriving on the darkness that our secrecy allows it.  By permitting it to remain hidden to protect our world from fear, we may be allowing it to bide its time until it can inspire panic."

There was what felt like a long pause before Henry spoke again.  "I'm sorry if I sound like I'm lecturing you.  I guess I've just needed to get that off my chest for a while and I can't help doing it as though I'm arguing in court."

Lee laughed half-heartedly.  "That's alright, Henry," he said.  "I do agree with you. That's why I'm telling as many people as I know I can trust.  There have to be those who are prepared."

"I assume Dad knows," said Henry after another silence.

Lee actually smiled sincerely for the first time since James had been observing the conversation.  "Dad knows everything that goes on at the Ministry.  I'm sure he's known since the beginning.  He wouldn't tell us about it anymore than you'd tell your children."  James shivered involuntarily.  "I think he was concerned when they finally let me know what was going in case that knowledge could help me more effectively treat the victims.  We haven't talked about it, but I see it in his eyes whenever there's an attack."

At that moment, the tenseness in the room was shattered suddenly as Gavin burst in.  "Uncle Henry," he practically shouted, "do you know where James is?  I can't find him anywhere!"  James and Brian took advantage of the noise of Gavin's account of his search for them to escape from the great room.  They quickly found a spare room where they could leave the invisibility cloak.

"Let's get Bridget and your cousin and go play Quidditch," suggested Brian, who seemed to want to do something that would shake that conversation from his head.  James, who was still distracted by it, just nodded his head absentmindedly.

They bumped into the somewhat dejected looking Gavin just outside the great room.  "Where've you been, kid?" asked James playfully.  "We've been looking all over for you."

Gavin's countenance lifted considerably.  "I've been looking for _you_."

James put his hand on Gavin's shoulder and led him down the corridor.  "Want to come practice Quidditch with us?"

The younger boy was so surprised by the unusual offer that all he could do was shake his head vigorously in consent.  They soon found Bridget, who was only too happy to be liberated from the company of the older women.  James grabbed four brooms and a large red ball called a Quaffle from a pantry before leading the group outside.  They didn't have enough people for a full-fledged game of Quidditch, the most popular magical sport in the world, so they opted for a simpler, but similar, game.  In one area of the courtyard, there was a single tall bronze pole with a ring on the top, quite a few metres above the ground.  They split into teams of two and tried to score by sending the ball through their opponent's side of the ring.  The first team to ten would win.  They played for hours, switching partners every game and pausing occasionally to drink the cold pumpkin juice that Knobbles brought for them.  It was clear that Bridget was the best player of the group and that Gavin needed a lot more practice, but they all managed to have fun.  Evening eventually fell and the tired group abandoned the game.  All of the other visitors had already left, but the children stayed for dinner before going back to their respective homes through the fireplace.

When James went to bed that night, he had a hard time getting to sleep.  His mind was reeling with the excitement of the day, and the promise of a whole day with his grandfather.  More than anything else though, the disturbing conversation he had overheard kept haunting his thoughts.  The idea that people close to him were close to such danger and darkness was terribly disquieting to him.  His uncle's statement about being prepared struck him the most.  There was part of him that felt that he too ought to be ready for possible danger, able to protect those around him.  But how could he do anything as young as he was?  How could he be in control of events around him?  A strange, indistinct anxiety crept over him.  His attempts to quiet his thoughts and go to sleep were largely fruitless.

When sleep finally overtook him, it was fitful and dream-filled.  In the most disturbing dream, he was a stone statue completely unable to move.  He looked around and saw that he was standing in the great room of the fortress.  He was surrounded by his family, as he had been that morning, except that none of them were smiling or looking at him.  There was a flash of green and he was atop his rock surrounded by the ocean, which seemed to be rising around him.  In the distance, he thought he saw a castle, rising like a ghost from the water.  Another blaze of green light and he was next to Grandfather Alfred on the top of a green hill, the bearded man staring out into the distance.  The flashes were coming more quickly now, and each was brighter than the last.  The next one brought him back to his own bedroom, but it was grim and bare.  A thin, tired-looking man with black hair, who James didn't recognize but who somehow seemed familiar, stood expressionless by the window.  He barely had the chance to look at that tortured face before another flash erased the scene.  He found himself in a cold forest at night, the eerie glow of moonlight making long shadows.  Out of the corner of his eye he saw a dark shape creep behind him.  Just before the next flash, he heard a howl of pain.  The images were now shifting much more quickly and he couldn't get more than a brief impression of what he was seeing.  A house… a girl… a Quidditch pitch… Brian and Bridget.…  Each violent flare of green was accompanied by a cold and painful sense of loss.  Finally, he turned his gaze away from his surroundings.  It fell on his own stone hand, holding a wand.  He was stunned to see that the next flash of green issued from his own wand.  This time it didn't go away.  Once it had consumed everything he could see, it just got brighter and brighter.  Finally, all he could see was blinding green light and all he could hear was a distant scream.  Just as he realized that the voice was his own, James bolted awake in bed.

He was covered in a cold sweat and was breathing heavily.  Looking up, he saw his grandfather standing placidly on the other side of the room looking down on him.  The warm light from the newly risen sun glowing through the window made him seem to almost glow with consolation.  James was quickly calmed by his grandfather's peaceful countenance.

"You've clearly had a most powerful dream, James," commented the old man after a few moments of silence.  "Take a moment to sort it out.  Dreams can be very important, and very useful, even if somewhat disturbing."

"Do you think it means something?" asked James, trying to hide the anxiety in his voice.

"I wouldn't presume to say," Alfred said as he made his way slowly to the boy's bedside.  "Dreams are very personal.  You will have to determine the importance of this one on your own and in your own time."  He put his hand reassuringly on his grandson's shoulder and continued.  "For the present, we have a busy day ahead of us and should get started.  I'll meet you in the dining hall when you are ready."  With that, the old man disappeared from the room.

James took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, regaining his composure and putting the dream out of his thoughts for the moment.  When he had suppressed the images sufficiently, he rose to get dressed.  He was fine until he went to wrap his plain green robes around his jeans and t-shirt.  The fluttering green of the fabric surrounding him was nearly too much for James.  Taking another deep breath, he quickly switched into dark brown robes and raced down the stairs to the dining hall.  His grandfather was at the table and had already started on the breakfast that Knobbles had set out for them.  He might have waited for James if he didn't know that the boy could finish his whole meal in the time it took him to eat a piece of toast.  It took James slightly longer than usual to eat because he kept pausing to try to find out what was planned for the day.  Alfred seemed to be in no hurry to let James in on the itinerary and just kept eating.  When they had both finished, the older man stood and began walking out of the room.  Uncertain whether he should follow or wait, James stayed in his chair.  Without looking back, Alfred called to him, "Well, are you coming or aren't you?"  James was on his feet and at his grandfather's side in an instant.

The two of them made their way to the front hall of the fortress keep.  Alfred went to a closet and pulled out two brooms, handing one to James, whose eyes lit up.  He had been forbidden to go any further than his rock and was thrilled at the prospect of flying all the way to London.  "We're going to fly?" he asked excitedly.

"No," replied Alfred with a smile.  "We are going to sweep the entire fortress."  He continued walking toward the front double doors, which opened before him.

James laughed.  "If Knobbles heard you say the fortress needed sweeping, he wouldn't sleep for a week."  He quickly mounted his broom and shot out the doors past his grandfather, who caught up with him remarkably quickly.  James hadn't considered that on a broom, the old man's speed wasn't hindered by his age as it was on the ground.

"Did you think you were the only Potter who could fly one of these?" asked Alfred teasingly as he sped off to the east.  James saw this as a challenge and raced to catch up.  When he had matched speeds, he barrel rolled over his grandfather to show that he was capable of holding his own in the air.  He didn't even notice that they had already gone further from the fortress than he had ever been on a broom.

The long ride at high speed didn't afford much opportunity for conversation, so the two wizards passed the time with aeronautical one-upmanship.  While James clearly had the advantage of energy and agility, Alfred's experience was considerable and showed.  Before too long however, James began to tire.  He hadn't considered how draining it would be to simply stay in the air so long.  Even without the effort of showing off, a certain level of physical exertion had to be maintained just to hold the broom steady and guide it through the sky.  James had never had to sustain flight for so long and he was beginning to better appreciate Quidditch players who could keep up in a fierce match that lasted for hours or longer.  Too exhausted to enjoy tricks anymore, James turned his attention to the scenery, but the endless ocean views held little interest for him.  His boredom was beginning to make him aware of his aching muscles when the granite cliffs of Land's End in Cornwall appeared on the horizon, breaking the monotony.  "Land!" he shouted happily.

Although they weren't invisible, there was little chance of being seen by Muggles on the ground.  Long-distance brooms were always enchanted with Muggle Distraction Charms, so that any Muggle who chanced to look up would be subtly influenced to look elsewhere.  No enchantment that affected Muggles was foolproof—there was too much unpredictability when dealing with humans—so Alfred was always careful not to tempt fate with unnecessary risk.  As such, the two wizards took a rather circuitous route towards London, avoiding as much as possible any area of dense population.  The countryside they passed over was amazingly diverse and beautiful to James, a dramatic contrast with the endless seascapes that he was accustomed to.

Travelling up the peninsula, they stayed primarily above the wild moorlands, which were dominated by wide, sweeping expanses, supporting only low grass and heather.  This seemed sufficient for the handful of ponies that James spotted grazing peacefully on the hillsides.  James also noticed great granite boulders on the moor standing exposed by ages of erosion.  Sometimes they were so tall, erect, and solitary that they almost looked like lonely stone men, keeping motionless watch over the moor.  For the most part, these immense rocks seemed to be strewn haphazardly across the contours of the terrain.  Occasionally, however, the land would rise in immense rocky tors, stacks of stone that looked like the abandoned playthings of giant children.  In other areas, the soil gave way to the streams and rivers that passed through the moor, often creating small, but distinct valleys that added to the variety of the geography.  As they progressed, some of these waterways began to interlace, losing their distinctness as they merged into vibrant green swamps and lagoons.  As they passed over, a flock of wild birds rose in chaotic unison, disturbing the stillness of the scene, and moving northward in a cloud of wings.  James followed them with his eyes until he could no longer make them out, and then turned his attention back to the landscape that seemed to be moving beneath him.  The marshes eventually rose and grew into uplands sustaining first willow and red osier, then forests lush with fern and a few ancient orchards turned wild.  These finally gave way to the vast, green, rolling terrain of the chalk country.  As they flew, the long ranges of hills appeared to James to rise and fall underneath him like the waves of the ocean did during the many turbulent storms he had witnessed; the thin blanket of mist that still clung to the floor of some of the valleys added to the illusion.  The wide vales, protected on both sides by the rising downs, were patchworked with fields of grain, tracts of wheat and barley rippling in the perpetual wind.  The predominantly green landscape was sporadically interrupted by tall clusters of beech rising conspicuously from the hillsides and by bright wildflowers that marked the paths of meandering rivers that had cut through this land for ages.  Although by this time James was feeling quite fatigued, he was still amazed by the beauty of the journey

Just as James was about to let his pride lose to his exhaustion and ask his grandfather if they could stop for a moment to rest, Alfred pointed to a small cluster of buildings in the distance to the north and shouted, "Follow me to the edge of that village, James.  We must go quickly so we won't be observed."  With that he picked up speed considerably and began to drop towards the town.  James had no choice but to take a deep breath, pull up all the stamina he had left, and pursue.

As they got closer, James could see that a good portion of the small village was on a circular tract of land.  An ancient, man-made trench and an embankment of earth rising around it defined the perimeter of the circle.  Although very impressive, it was clear that time had smoothed and diminished the contours of these earthworks.  James imagined how imposing they must have looked when they were first created, before grass had even begun to grow on the rough and exposed slopes of the newly overturned dirt.  James soon got a much closer look as he followed his grandfather down into the eastern part of the gully and then around the northern part of the loop.  Just as they rose out of the ditch to pass over a road at the extreme north of the circle, James noticed an enormous, diamond-shaped boulder.  It stood nearly five metres tall, and was just on the opposite side of the road.  Beyond it, James could see more sarsen stones standing in a curved line along the inner edge of the ditch.  These sandstone monoliths were each shaped differently, but all towered at least three metres above the ground.

Alfred flew over to one of the larger stones and landed on the grass beside it, James following close behind.  Pulling out his wand and pointing it at the ground in front of the boulder, he whispered, "_Desescondio_."  A square patch of grass suddenly opened like a door, revealing a good-sized underground compartment lined with wood.  "Come, James," he said as he knelt at the side of the opening and placed his broom inside.  "We're going to have to drop a few things off here so we can blend in among the Muggles."

James' eyes lit up.  "We're going to see Muggles?" he asked excitedly as he walked over to his grandfather and pulled off his robes.

Alfred snapped his head toward the boy.  He looked frustrated, even angry  "They're people, James!" he snapped.  "Don't ever talk about them as if they were zoo animals, or inferior to you in any way.  I will not tolerate such ignorance!"  His voiced softened to almost a whisper.  "It causes too much pain."

James was startled by the sudden change in mood.  His grandfather had never spoken to him like that.  All James could manage was a weak, "Yes, Grandfather," as he handed over his broom and robes.  Desperate to get past the uncomfortable moments of silence, James finally turned to the boulder and asked cautiously, "Grandfather, what is this place?"

Apparently content to let the previous matter be, Alfred stood and scanned the area.  He took a long, controlled breath, as if he were taking in more than just air.  "No one knows, James," he said quietly.  "It's a mystery to everyone, both Muggle and magician… A relic of an ancient time, ages before our worlds were forced to separate.  There are many of these stone monuments scattered across our land.  This happens to be the largest, a stone circle half a kilometre in diameter.  Although much of it has been destroyed, there are still boulders standing exactly where they were placed millennia ago.  For me, it is a reminder that what we create can endure long after everyone has forgotten who we were.  I don't know that it has any practical use to anyone but myself.  I've found it's a good place to keep a few things safely hidden away, just in case."

"In case of what?" asked James, intrigued.

"Exactly, my boy," replied Alfred with a grin.  "Now, we must be going.  We have a bus to catch."  Without further explanation he pulled out his wand and murmured, "_Escondio_."  He turned and began walking across the grass towards the buildings at the centre of the circle before the magical stash had even finished closing.  James followed him eagerly, desperate to ask his grandfather something, but completely unsure just what it was he wanted to ask.

After a short walk past several more boulders scattered across the grass and a small group of sheep grazing among them, they came up behind an old house.  The white building had a thatched roof and red brick chimneys.  Much of the timber framing was exposed, creating panes of various sizes in the white walls.  Alfred and James came around to the front of the building, where a sign identified it as The Red Lion, an inn with a restaurant and pub.  From the front, James could see that it stood on one corner of a T-junction in the roads that passed through the circle.

To James' relief, his grandfather led him inside and ordered two lemonades.  Alfred seemed content to sip his lemonade, chatting with the barman who seemed to know him well, while James guzzled down his second, third, and fourth glasses.  The long flight had been much more tiring than he anticipated, but the cold drinks parched his thirst and reinvigorated him a little.  As he drank, he took in his surroundings.  He was quite surprised at how normal everything was; his exposure to Muggle characters in his comics and other stories had him expecting eccentric oddballs.  He had somewhat hoped to be amused by people constantly doing or saying things that were completely silly and backwards.  Granted, there were things he did find odd (like that ringing contraption that the bartender spoke into for a few moments), but none of it was as comical as he had thought Muggles were supposed to be.

Not long after they had both finished their lemonades, the bartender anxiously looked out the window and then down at his watch.  "Get moving, man," he said excitedly.  "Your bus is early."  James was immediately on his feet and on his way to the door.  Alfred was delayed, fumbling through his pockets until the bartender shouted at him, "Don't worry about it.  You can pay later."  The old man followed James out the door, the two of them sprinting to the bus, which was hissing and grumbling as the door closed and it prepared to depart.  James nearly stopped in his tracks, startled by the odd noises coming from the bus.  Fortunately, his grandfather had caught him up and grabbed James' shoulder to move him along with one hand while waving furiously at the bus driver with the other.

The bus had only gone a few metres when the driver saw Alfred and it groaned to a halt.  James was again taken aback at the loud rattle that accompanied the automatic opening of the bus door.  Unsure what to expect next, he was quite cautious as he followed his grandfather up the stairs and back to a pair of seats near the rear of the bus.  James had never ridden in a Muggle vehicle before, and was completely absorbed in the new experience.  Careful not to speak so loudly that the Muggles might hear, James badgered his grandfather with questions.  How did the bus move without magic?  Didn't the constant hum that the bus made annoy the Muggles?  Did the Muggles have buses that could fly?  Why didn't they always use the flying buses?  Although he found all of the answers interesting, what amazed him more than anything was that his grandfather _had_ answers to all his questions.

Finally, James asked the most pressing question on his mind, "Not that I'm complaining, Grandfather, but why are we using Muggle transportation at all?"

"Excellent question," replied Alfred.  "This time, though, you ought to be able to come up with the answer on your own.  Why would I take the time to show you how Muggles get around?"

A few minutes passed before James responded.  He wanted to make sure he didn't say anything stupid.  In the end he said the only thing he could come up with, "Just in case."

Alfred laughed so loudly that several of the other passengers looked back at him to see what was going on.  James was afraid at first that he had said something ridiculous, but was soon pleased and relieved to hear his grandfather chuckle, "Exactly, my boy.  Exactly."

The bus shortly entered a more densely populated area, which Alfred identified to James as Swindon.  They got off the bus in front of the town's railway station and passed through a subway connecting the street-side entrance to the railway platforms on the other side of the tracks.  The large platform where they came up was crowded with people, benches, and small station buildings.  Remembering what his grandfather had said to him earlier James tried not to stare, but found it impossible.  There was too much that was strange and interesting.  Luckily for him, no one really seemed to notice how intently he was staring at perfectly ordinary things like the public phones.  One young woman did notice James staring at her digital watch, but assumed he just wanted to know the time and kindly told him it was one o'clock.

James thanked her and looked sheepishly at his grandfather, who (he was relieved to see) wasn't upset and said simply, "Good, our train should arrive momentarily."  Sure enough, a disembodied and somewhat garbled voice soon loudly announced that a train bound for London was arriving.  James tried to find the source of the odd voice, but gave up when the train came into sight down the tracks, presenting him with a much more interesting diversion.  It was unlike any train James had ever seen.  Not that he had seen all that many, but he had ridden a couple magical steam trains a few years back on holiday with his family.  The machine that was now stopping in front of him was an almost entirely different contraption all together.  It was much more smooth and sleek, almost like a giant metal snake, and James didn't have any idea where the engine car was, if it even had one.

He stepped carefully onto the train, following his grandfather to one of the many benches that filled the car.  James took the seat nearest the window and watched as the train began moving and the station sped quickly out of view.  A few minutes into their trip, Alfred produced a small basket full of food.  "I'll wager you won't object to having something to eat," he said with a smile.  James didn't have a chance to reply because his mouth was already quite full of sandwich.

As it happened, their car was almost empty, so they were able to talk softly as they ate without worrying about being overheard.  After several questions about Muggle inventions and life, James came to a realization.  "Muggles really aren't all that different from us, are they, Grandfather?" he asked.  Alfred smiled a little, but didn't say anything, leaving the boy to think in silence for another few moments.  James realized his grandfather was trying to teach him something important, so he thought doubly hard before asking his next question, hoping he would not have to answer it himself.  "Why do we live apart from the Muggles?" he finally said.

"That's too easy a question, James," said Alfred, smiling despite the boy's obvious confusion.  "Not too easy to answer," he continued.  "It's too easy to ask, too safe.  It takes no responsibility."

James stared out the window for another few moments before trying again.  When he thought he might have some idea what his grandfather was getting at, he made another attempt.  "Why do we _hide_ from them?" he asked tentatively.

This time, Alfred seemed quite content with, even proud of James.  "Now that is a worthwhile question," he said.  "So worthwhile, in fact, that I am unable to answer it completely.  I can tell you that it wasn't always like this.

"Ages ago, most Muggles were able to accept the existence of magic in the world without feeling threatened.  And most wizards and witches were able to use their magical abilities responsibly and without arrogance.  Everyone lived together in relative harmony.  Don't misunderstand me.  This was no utopia.  Certainly there were problems and discords and even wars, but they very rarely centred on the question of magic.  You see, a balance of power that ensured this peace and harmony was agreed upon and utilized for countless years and in countless cultures.  The rulers were always Muggles, but they were chosen, supported, and counselled by the wizarding community.  For centuries, Muggles trusted and respected the wisdom of the wizards and our kind in turn trusted and respected the Muggle right to governance.

"Unfortunately, this arrangement was eventually taken for granted and gave way to a class system that grew ever more rigid.  A ruling class of nobility among the Muggles came to feel entitled to their stations and were largely unconcerned with any but their own interests.  Wizards grew complacent in their comfortable positions as counsellors at court and gradually lost interest in the maintenance of justice and order.  As this elitism spread, so did misery in the lower classes and contention among the rulers.  Revolutions and wars became commonplace as the various kings and nobles tried to increase their wealth and influence.  Wizards threw their force behind whomever they believed could best assure their continued security and comfort.  During this violent time, mistrust and suspicion escalated on both sides, widening the gulf to the point that it seemed beyond repair.

"There was however, a brief period of respite during the Arthurian age, when the great wizard Merlin was able to achieve an amazing degree of tolerance and even integration.  Unfortunately, even he was unable to overcome the basic feeling that Muggles and wizards are so inherently different that they could never truly be one people.  As time wore on past Merlin's era, the segregation increased quite naturally, without any overt action or deliberate planning.  Each society was simply content to go about its own business, for the most part oblivious and indifferent to the other.  At this point, to say that they simply 'lived apart' from each other would have been accurate and your first question would be more than answered.

"The next piece, however, is somewhat more delicate; it involves deep-seated beliefs founded on even deeper emotions.  I don't really know all of the details of that sad stretch of history, and many that I do know I don't care much to speak about if I can avoid it.  I can only paint this picture for you with very broad strokes. At first, the division seemed quite harmless.  But years of separation allowed rumours to slowly spread and grow, causing each community to see the other as increasingly peculiar and even abnormal.  It is difficult in the extreme for human beings to focus on how something is different without coming to see it as flawed or inferior.  This was no exception; both sides would ultimately succumb to this belief, becoming ever more apprehensive and suspicious of each other.  Mistrust, when passed through generations, builds up and eventually transforms into fear.  At this point, blame became a convenient and easy way for the factions—yes, both of them—to avoid responsibility for their own ills.  The increasing fearful accusations led swiftly to true hatred, creating a highly dangerous and volatile environment.  It was rather like a thick forest that has grown too dry, where even the smallest spark can have violent consequences.

"No one can say for certain what that spark was, or which side caused it.  And if you ask me it doesn't much matter.  If it hadn't have been one thing it would have been another.  The result would have been the same, a fierce inferno of aggression and bloodshed.  Most modern wizarding historians focus entirely on Muggle persecution of the magical community, but it is important to remember that wizards did at least their fair share of mistreatment and even killing.  As different as they felt from one another, their actions were remarkably similar.

"In the end, the most important factor that led to the hiding was that wizards and witches were the minority.  The Muggles couldn't be destroyed for their sheer numbers, so the only way to avoid being destroyed by them was to disappear, an ability that the magical community was fortunate enough to possess.  The International Confederation of Wizards was thus formed at the end of the seventeenth century to orchestrate the retreat and magic has been carefully hidden from Muggle eyes ever since.  I think many wizards and witches at the time thought that Muggle society would shrivel up and die without magical help, but they most certainly have not.  If anything, our society has stagnated in hiding; we expend so much energy trying to stay hidden that we don't progress much.  Things have changed very little in our world over the centuries, while the Muggle world has changed a great deal."

James had to reflect for a moment to try and take that all in.  "So, you're saying that hiding hurts us.  We're cutting off our nose to spite our face.  You're saying we should stop hiding."

Alfred raised his eyebrows and said, suppressing a smile, "That's not what I'm saying at all.  You were right that we are much more alike than many think, but even so I am convinced that reintegration would be disastrous in the extreme.  Human nature has not changed very much in the past few centuries, and we are much more isolated and prejudiced now than we were during the hysteria just prior to our seclusion."

James looked confused.  "Then what are you saying?  Why tell me all that?"

Just then, the train began to slow as it entered Paddington Station.  "What makes you so certain that I was doing anything more than answering your question with a bit of historical context?" asked Alfred.  James looked like he was about to speak, but his grandfather cut him off before he had a chance.  "In any case, our little conversation certainly helped to pass the time.  Here we are.  Let's go."  Alfred stood and was at the compartment's exit before the train had come to a complete stop.  James was still puzzled, thinking over his grandfather's words as he followed him onto the platform and then out of the station into Muggle London.  Although he was still entranced by the Muggle world, James' attitude towards it had changed somewhat.  He actually felt a little sad that he could never be more than a visitor there, that there were so many places where he would never really belong, that there were so many wonders he would never understand.  James couldn't decide whether he was glad to at least know something real about it all, or if he was envious of those young wizards and witches whose universes were smaller and easier to manage.

They stopped just in front of The Leaky Cauldron, a wizarding inn and pub as well as the passageway into the magical centre of London.  James took a final look at the people passing him on the street.  His grandfather leaned down to his level and spoke softly, "O brave new world that has such people in it."


	3. Young Wizards

Chapter 3: Young Wizards

The Leaky Cauldron was crowded with witches and wizards, many of whom seemed to know and have business with James' grandfather.  Alfred diplomatically did his best to keep conversation short and keep moving towards the back of the pub.  As his grandfather talked, James looked around the room and noticed a rather chubby blonde boy on the other side of the room.  He looked a little shorter than James, but was roughly the same age.  Realizing that he probably wasn't the only new Hogwarts student who had come that day to get school supplies and hoping to make an acquaintance so that he might not feel quite so lost when he got to school, James smiled and waved at him to get his attention.  The boy saw him and smiled timidly before turning back to his meal.  James was a little disappointed not to have gotten a more enthusiastic response, but didn't have much time to think about it as his grandfather urged him on.

They came up to the bar, where Alfred asked Bildwyn, the bartender, if any packages had come for him and his grandson.  Bildwyn, who seemed awfully quiet for a bartender, just nodded and handed a parcel each to Alfred and James.  "Knobbles was kind enough to arrange for spare robes to be waiting here for us," said Alfred, ushering James up the stairs to a guest room where they were able to put on clothing more appropriate to their present surroundings, and thus feel great deal less conspicuous.  They were able to make it quietly down the stairs and out into the small courtyard behind the Leaky Cauldron without further interruption.

Once outside, Alfred approached the brick wall on the far side of the courtyard and extended his wand to James with a smile.  Every time the young James had been to Diagon Alley before, an adult had opened the magically concealed passageway in the wall for him; but now his grandfather was going to let him do it himself.  He eagerly took the wand and went to tap the magic brick that would trigger the opening, but found that in his excitement he had completely forgotten which of the bricks it was.  Why couldn't he remember, he asked himself.  He had seen it done a dozen times or more.  When he finally settled on a brick and moved the wand towards it, his grandfather extended his hand and guided the wand up one brick.

"I knew it was this one," said James, trying to hide his embarrassment, as he tapped the brick three times with the wand.  "I was just testing you."

"Of course," replied Alfred with mild sarcasm.

The bricks in the wall magically began to reposition themselves until a large arch had been formed, opening onto the cobblestone streets of Diagon Alley.  The narrow, winding street was lined with all kinds of shops and bustling with all sorts of people.  Alfred took his wand back, put a hand on James' shoulder and led him onward, saying, "Now let's see about a wand of your own, shall we?"  James needed no encouragement.

Not very far down the road, they arrived at a small, ancient-looking shop with a fading sign that read "Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C."  It seemed an awfully battered place to go looking for fine wands, but James supposed that the Ollivander fame must have long ago outweighed any need to impress people with outward appearances.  He and his grandfather stepped into the store and waited quietly just inside the door.  Something about the atmosphere in the dimly lit and tightly packed building made anything but silence unthinkable.

As he waited, James' attention was drawn to a pillar of dust particles, glowing in a small shaft of sunlight that had managed to find its way inside the dark shop.  Knobbles was far too meticulous to allow this kind of dust to build up at home, so he had never seen anything like this up close, but it reminded him of seeing sunlight shining through a break in distant stormclouds.  It fascinated him how a tiny speck of dust, so obvious in the bright stream of light, could vanish instantly into the darkness around it.

James' concentration was suddenly broken when a pale, old face appeared in the light, startling him quite a bit.  The aged storekeeper's creased mouth barely moved as he spoke, although it stretched a little in what James could only guess was a smile.  "Alfred Potter, wonderful to see you again.  How is your wand serving you?  Ash, eleven and a quarter inches, quite firm, if memory serves."

"Correct as always, Varrin," replied Alfred.  "And it continues to function as well as the day I purchased it from you, which is why I'm confident you can find something that will suit my young grandson, James."

Mr. Ollivander's attention turned to James, who became unexpectedly anxious.  The old wandmaker moved a few steps closer to him and said, "Of course.  Extend your wand arm for me, lad."  It was several moments before the request registered in James' head and he was able to comply.  "It's all right, son," continued Mr. Ollivander, pulling out a length of measuring tape, "this won't hurt a bit."

He began earnestly measuring every conceivable dimension of James' arm and hand.  James' noticed as he watched that the silver markings on the tape measure weren't all numbers.  Some of them were letters, others looked like runes or hieroglyphics, many he couldn't identify at all.  He was so intent on the tape's markings, he didn't notice that it was acting independently of Mr. Ollivander until it began to measure the circumference of his kneecaps.  Looking up, he saw the shopkeeper walking towards him from the back of the shop, several long boxes in his hands.

"That should suffice," he said when he reached James.  The tape measure promptly went limp and dropped to the ground.  He opened one of the boxes and took out a long wooden wand, which he handed to James.  "A birch wand with a core of unicorn hair, fourteen and a half inches, quite flexible.  Give it a wave."

James obediently gave the wand a short, unproductive flick.  Before he knew it, Mr Ollivander had replaced it with a different wand.  "Redwood with phoenix feather, ten inches, rather—no, that's not it either.  Try this, pine and dragon heartstring, eight and a—perhaps chestnut and phoenix feather…."  James barely had a chance to get a grip on a wand before Mr. Ollivander took it and gave him another.  Finally, when old wand-maker handed James an eleven-inch wand that he identified as mahogany with dragon heartstring, James' grip involuntarily tightened around it.  He felt as though some unseen force had shoved him backward—not violently, but forcefully—as red bolts blasted like lightning from his wand.

"There you have it," said Mr. Ollivander contentedly.  "Quite a powerful wand, and superb for transfiguration work, has chosen you, young Mr. Potter.  You will never get the same cooperation from a wand that has chosen someone else."

"Thank you," said James, uncertain what, if anything, else he ought to say.  He still felt a bit like the wind had been knocked out of him.  As his grandfather paid, he placed the wand carefully in the scabbard he had been given, which was fastened soundly to his belt.  Just as he had been promised, it was a perfect fit.

As soon as they left Ollivander's, James was anxious to get to Flourish and Blott's, the largest bookseller on Diagon Alley, so he could start looking through some spell books.  Strictly speaking, James wasn't allowed to do magic outside of school, but knowing the exuberance of first-year students who have just gotten their first wands, the Improper Use of Magic Office was usually pretty lenient in prosecuting them. There weren't very many that young that could do anything seriously dangerous even if they wanted to.  Although he knew to be careful, James was determined to know a handy spell or two before he arrived at Hogwarts.

James had most everything else he would need for school already, but he did have to stop at a few more stores to pick up the few odds and ends that remained.  He had just picked out a nice brass telescope when an extremely thin witch with long grey hair scurried into the store.  She had a very severe-looking face; her lips sere pinched tight, as though she had just eaten something very sour, and James didn't have any idea how her wire-frame spectacles were staying perched on her tiny nose.  "Mr. Potter, at last," she said desperately.  "I've been looking all over for you.  You have no idea.  Honestly, if Matthias hadn't happened to be taking lunch at the Leaky Cauldron just when you came through… well, I just don't know what you expect me to do when you disappear like this."

Alfred put a reassuring hand on the woman's shoulder.  "Breathe," he said carefully.  When she had calmed a little, he continued, "Now Armania, I haven't disappeared.  You knew perfectly well that I wasn't coming in today and that I didn't wish to be disturbed.  I knew that the only way that there was any chance of that happening was to leave you ignorant of my plans.  In any case, you have found me and might as well tell me just what has upset you so."

Armania glanced hesitantly at James before responding, "It has happened again, Mr. Potter."  She looked expectantly at Alfred, hoping that he would catch her meaning.

"Twice in as many days," he said softly.

"I'm afraid it gets worse," the anxious witch continued.  "This time it happened to… what I mean to say is… it was… it was one of us."  The poor woman looked like she was on the verge of losing her composure entirely.  "The entire Ministry is in chaos.  I simply don't know how they are going to keep this quiet now."

Despite Armania's care, James was certain he knew exactly was she was talking about, and was terrified.  The unknown assassin he had overheard his father and uncle talking about had murdered a witch or wizard.  Looking to his grandfather for reassurance, James was surprised to see that the normally calm old man was reacting with clear anger.

"I told them from the beginning that secrecy was a mistake!" muttered Alfred to no one in particular.  "Now rumours will be flying faster than we can dispel them, leaving panic in their wake."  He turned to his grandson and crouched so he could speak to the boy at eye level.  "I hope you will forgive me James, but there are some things I must take care of immediately.  Stay in Diagon Alley.  I will return as quickly as possible.  Try to enjoy yourself without me, alright?"  Alfred forced a smile and pressed a few coins into James' hands before following Armania out of the store and down the street.

James had wanted to beg his grandfather not to go, not to leave him alone at a time like this, but he knew he couldn't.  He wasn't even supposed to have any idea what was going on.  Still somewhat dazed, James paid for the telescope, arranged for it to be sent to his home, and walked out into the street.  He couldn't help but be suspicious of everyone he saw.  Could one of them be the killer?  Knowing as much as he did, being on a crowded street didn't even give him any confidence.  He tried to convince himself how unlikely it was that there would be an attack right there and right then as he walked to the Quidditch store, where he hoped he could distract himself a little.

Suddenly, James was tackled from behind.  His assailant took him right to the ground, where James had to wrestle him to try and get free.  When he finally liberated himself, he sat up and saw another dark-haired boy lying flat on his back and laughing hysterically.  James immediately recognized his attacker as Sirius Black.  Their mothers were friends and they had grown up playing together all the time.  Sirius was now beating his fists on the ground and shouting, "I got you so good!  You should have seen the look on your face.  Priceless!  Ruddy brilliant!"

When he finally got his wind back, James noticed that passers-by were beginning to stare, so he picked himself up and dusted off his robes.  Looking down at his friend, he said, "Filthy coward, attacking from behind."  Even though he tried to look stern, Sirius' laughter was contagious and James soon broke down.  It felt good to relieve some tension.  When the two boys finally got some self-control, James extended a hand to help Sirius up.

"What are you doing wandering around Diagon Alley all by yourself?" asked Sirius once he was again on his feet.

"My grandfather brought me to pick up some things for school," he answered cheerfully.  "I got my invitation to Hogwarts yesterday.  Don't be too disappointed about not getting in, Sirius.  I'm sure no respectable school would accept a troublemaker like you."

Sirius didn't seem even a little offended.  "Shows how much you know," he said.  "My name got put down on Hogwarts' lists the moment I was born… before I had had a chance to make any trouble."

James laughed.  "Not a moment too soon, then."

"Shut up James," said Sirius as he punched his friend good-naturedly and then followed when James continued towards the Quidditch store.  "So where is your grandfather, anyway?" he asked.  "Didn't you say he brought you here?"

James wasn't at all interested in remembering just why his grandfather was away, so he just shrugged and said, "Ministry business."  Fortunately for James, they had arrived at the display window of the shop and he knew it wouldn't be too hard to change the subject.  Looking in at the assortment of Quidditch memorabilia, he turned to Sirius and asked, "So, what do you think of the Falcons this year?"

Sure enough, mentioning the Falmouth Falcons—whose extremely rough style of play made them Sirius' favourite team—was all it took to get him going.  He immediately began rambling about how they had never fully recovered from the Broadmoor brothers' retirement.  That was however, no reason to lose faith; it was just a matter of time before they would be again beating (or perhaps beating on) the best teams in the league.  The team was practicing like crazy (putting several of them in the hospital), they had just upgraded their brooms, and, of course, there was the ever-present rumour that the Broadmoors might be coming out of retirement.

James happily lost track of the time as he and his friend browsed through the store and chatted about their favourite pastime.  He was eager to boast about the success of his Aunt Laura and her team, the Puddlemere United, which had trounced the Falcons in their last match.  He was interrupted in mid-sentence, though, when Sirius "accidentally" let a Bludger loose and it ricocheted around the room breaking everything in its path.  The shopkeeper was able to grab hold of the destructive ball so quickly that James thought this must happen quite often.  Fortunately for Sirius, none of the damage was irreparable, but the shopkeeper was quite insistent in his invitation that the boys find some other place to create chaos.  As they left, they could hear him charming various panes of glass back into place and into one piece.

"Ah, there you are," said a deep voice behind the two boys.  "I thought I heard breaking glass.  I might have known young Mr. Black had found you."  They turned around to see Alfred Potter looking at them with amusement.  "I do hope you haven't been doing anything illegal.  I would hate to be forced to have you two locked up."

Sirius smiled.  "Of course not, your Honour.  I try to keep James here out of mischief, but the moment I turn my back…"

"You will have to be more diligent in the future," replied Alfred sarcastically.  "As for the present, I'm afraid James and I must be off to Uffington."  Sirius looked up at the old man eagerly, clearly hoping for an invitation.  Alfred looked down at the two children.  "As much as I might like to have you along, Mr. Black, I don't think this is the best time to introduce the Ministry to your combined…exuberance."

"All right," sighed Sirius, who was visibly disappointed.  "Meet you on the train to Hogwarts then, James?"

"Yeah, okay," replied James over his shoulder as he and his grandfather began walking down the street.  "See you then!"

When they had passed Gringotts, the wizarding bank run by goblins, they turned onto Awfish Alley, which housed the London offices of the Ministry of Magic.  This street was every bit as busy as Diagon Alley had been, but the atmosphere was very different.  Everyone seemed in more of a hurry and less disposed to stop and chat.  Those who were conversing did so very quietly, with anxious looks over their shoulders every few moments.  James was glad that most everyone seemed as oblivious to this anxiety as he wished he were.  There was a queue of very bored-looking people extending out of one of the buildings, apparently seeking licences to keep the various creatures that accompanied them as pets.  A very annoyed looking wizard nearly knocked James down as he hurried past.  James heard him muttering to himself, "If I had a sickle for every time they decided to change these forms…"

Towards the end of the alley, they arrived at a large, granite building with Department of Magical Law Enforcement carved into the stone above the entryway.  James followed his grandfather up the stairs and through the great brass double doors into the vaulted main hall.  It was so quiet inside that the echoing footfalls of the few employees making their way between offices seemed rather loud.  The only other sound was the low crackle from the lively green flames in the two large fireplaces at the far end of the hall.  Alfred whispered to James as they approached them that the fireplaces were directly linked to the Department offices at the Ministry Castle in Uffington.  A pair of witches in charcoal robes appeared in the fireplace on the left and said hello to Alfred before continuing with their business.  Alfred tipped his hat and then led James through the fireplace on the right.

James and his grandfather immediately found themselves on the other side of the floo portal, stepping out of the fire and into an imposing room in an ancient stone building.  This was Uffington Castle, where the Wizards' Council, the first institution of magical government in Britain, was first established.  The Council and its successor organization, the Ministry of Magic, had been directed from this location for centuries.  The Ministry's functions had eventually outgrown the castle and branch offices were constructed (most notably in London, near the centre of Muggle government) to house some of the Ministry's subsidiary offices.  Now, most of the day-to-day operations and bureaucracy were actually conducted outside of Uffington.  The Castle held the headquarters of the larger departments as well as offices for the Minister of Magic and his staff.  James had been through the parts of the Castle that were open to public tours a couple of times, but he had never been where things were actually happening.  Now he was standing in the core of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, which was bristling with tense activity.

"Would you like to see where I work, James?" asked Alfred once they were away from the fireplace.  James enthusiastically indicated that he would.  "I will not be able to give you the comprehensive tour that I would have liked.  The business that called me away is keeping most everyone quite occupied at present and it would be inappropriate to impose upon them.  However, the courtroom is thankfully quite vacant today."

James was too excited about what his grandfather _was_ going to show him to be disappointed about what he wasn't going to see.  Alfred Potter was the Chief Magistrate of the highest court of magical law in Britain, but James had never been allowed in the courtroom where his grandfather presided.

Alfred led him down a corridor that ended with large oaken double doors, which he opened to reveal an enormous rectangular room with an arched ceiling.  James stepped inside reverently and began looking around.  There were several tiers of wooden benches lining the long walls on either side of the room.  At the far end of the room stood a tall bench with the backs of three large chairs visible behind it.  James knew that this was where his grandfather and the two Associate Magistrates sat.  The wall behind the bench was divided into five tall windows extending from floor to ceiling and letting in a great deal of light.  Several tables and chairs were distributed around the room for the benefit of the Advocates of the accused and of the accusers, as well as for the various other officers of the court.  One chair, though—a very sturdy looking one in the centre of the courtroom—stood out more than anything else in the room.  Alfred noticed James looking at it and said, "That is called the Crucible.  It is provided for the Accused and has powerful enchantments upon it, which prevent magical energy from leaving it.  Otherwise, the whole courtroom might be inadvertently blown up in a outburst of emotion."

James had no desire to sit in the Crucible, but did move to the table at the left of it to sit in the chair there.  "Is this where my Dad sits when he comes here?" he asked enthusiastically.  His grandfather just smiled and nodded.  Involuntarily straightening his back to feel taller, James imagined he was his father, arguing some important cause with passion and skill.  The room was in his mind suddenly full of people: jurors, witnesses, spectators, his grandfather and the other Magistrates.  He was addressing the jurors when the other Advocate protested; naturally his grandfather and an Associate overruled him.  At that point, James decided he wanted to sit in the tallest chair in the room.  He looked to his grandfather for permission, and without a word he extended his hand towards the bench.  James was straight away scrambling up the steps to the platform behind the bench and jumping into the stately chair.  Here he had to sit up extra tall just to be able to get a good view of the courtroom, which looked considerably different from that vantage point.  He noticed that the arrangement of the room set the Crucible in the exact centre of his field of view.  There was a clear view of the Advocates' tables and the seats along the walls, but James was sure that during a trial his grandfather's eyes would be constantly drawn back to the Crucible, and the accused person sitting there.  He wondered if it was hard for his grandfather to have to look so often into those eyes during the trial and the judgement; James certainly didn't enjoy looking at even the empty chair for very long.  He looked past it for his grandfather, who was standing just outside the light from the large windows.

Alfred stepped into the light and smiled, saying, "Are you ready to adjourn, your Honour?"

"Yeah," replied James, hopping down from the chair and meeting his grandfather at the side of the bench.

Alfred led him through a side door into his chambers, an eight-sided room that was apparently in one of the Castle's many towers.  Most of the wall space was lined with shelves full of books and scrolls, as well as the occasional stone tablet.  The room was rather sparsely furnished.  A sturdy mahogany desk stood in the middle of the room, facing the other door.  The tall chair behind it was upholstered with what appeared to be black dragon hide.  The chairs in front of it were adequate, but considerably more modest.  The only other item taking up floor space was Alfred's cello, which was on a stand in a corner across the room.  There were several oil lamps hanging from the mouths of iron wall fixtures that looked like dragons in flight.  The lamps were dark, though, because the windows behind the desk were letting in plenty of sunlight.

James began walking around the room, looking at the titles of the various volumes.  There was_ Choice and Accountability _by Maximus Kulpa, _The Truth about Veritaserum_ by Sincera Mentirosa, _Laws_ by Plato, _Wizards and Witches in Muggle Courts_ by Lex Regius.  He stopped for a moment to look at a scroll that began "Johannes del gracia rex Anglie…" wondering if that was some sort of incantation.

Eventually he made his way to his grandfathers desk and sat down in the large chair, which was quite comfortable.  Alfred's desktop was made of polished black marble, but James could hardly tell for all the stuff covering it.  There were any number of parchments, as well as a few quills and inkwells, some sealing wax, and a couple of open books.  A very ancient looking sextant and several photographs of family stood at the far corners of the desk  James looked at the picture of his own family, which had been taken a couple years ago.  His mother was trying to calm Catherine, a baby at the time, who was crying enthusiastically.  His father had a firm hand on the shoulder of James' younger self, keeping him from being too restless.

"This room has one of the best views in the whole Castle," said Alfred pointing to one of the windows behind his desk.  "Have a look."

James got up and went to the large window.  The sill wasn't very wide, but then neither was James, so he was able to half sit, half lean into the corner of it as he looked out.  And the view was incredible.  James could see for miles across the rolling landscape.  On the side of one of the nearby hills was an enormous figure that looked like it had been painted there by giants in broad, white strokes.  He recognized it instantly.  "You can see the White Horse from here," he said with excitement.

"Yes," said Alfred, moving over to the window himself.  "I told you I had a great view."

"What is the White Horse, Grandfather?" asked James.

"It's chalk," responded Alfred, teasingly.  "Grass doesn't grow there, so the chalk shows through."

"I know _that_," James replied.

Alfred feigned extreme confusion.  "Then why did you ask?"

James sighed with exasperation.  "What I meant was," he said slowly, "How did it come to be?  What is it there for?  What does it _mean_?"

"Aahh…" said Alfred as though the solution to some great mystery had just been revealed to him.  "As to that, Merlin only knows."  He paused to think for a moment before continuing, "it's extraordinarily magical, that much is certain.  We've been able to conceal this entire castle from muggle eyes.  Oh, they know that Uffington has a castle, but as far as they're concerned, it's an ancient ruin of a primitive fortress.  They can even come right up to it and believe that they are walking through the ruins.  But for all our expertise, we can't hide a simple image on a hillside.  In fact, we can't get a single charm or enchantment to stick; they all just bounce off."

"You must have some idea what it's for, though… some guess," James said, growing more curious.

"There are nearly as many theories as there are wizards who have asked the question," he replied.  "Some believe it's a powerfully enchanted emblem that grants protection to this area, or this island, or this world.  Others believe it marks the spot where muggles in ancient times—knights in particular—could come to request magical asylum.  Still others believe it simply commemorates some battle, or hero, or some such thing.  The list could go on and on."

"But what to _you_ think?" pressed James.

Alfred smiled.  "in my life and occupation, I have learned not to speculate before I know all of the necessary facts, that is, until I know the history.  As I said, in this case there is no one living ho can give that history, so I wouldn't presume to guess.  I believe that it takes courage to admit one's ignorance, and in this matter I am sadly, but truly, ignorant."

James grandfather kept looking out at the White Horse in silence for another few moments.  Seeing the look of concern in his face, James realized that his grandfather's frustration came from more than just his curiosity as an historian.  Alfred clearly felt the answer was genuinely important.

Soon Alfred's demeanour lifted and he looked a little to his left.  "Do you see Dragon Hill a little further out there?" he asked.

James turned and saw it.  It was a relatively small hill with a very level top.  Most of it was covered with grass like the surrounding countryside, but a single patch of the flat area was white.

"That," continued Alfred once he knew James had found it, "I can give you the history behind.  It took some digging to find the real story, which has been adapted and changed over the centuries as good stories tend to do.  Perhaps that will help our journey back pass a little more quickly."

"We have to leave already?" asked James, trying not to sound too whiny.

"Presently, yes," replied Alfred comfortingly.  "It's been a good, full day and there really isn't much else for us to do."

"What about those?" asked James, pointing out the window.  "Can't we go over to Dragon Hill and the White Horse?"

Alfred chuckled softly at the boy's attempt to delay their departure.  "They're really not much to see up close."  James opened his mouth to disagree, but Alfred interrupted him, saying, "You'll get the chance soon enough.  Trust me.  Besides, the sun will go down before long and the trip back to Azkaban is hardly a short one."

"Alright," said James, obviously disappointed, but realizing it was useless to argue.  After one last look out the sindow, he started towards the room's front door.

Alfred stopped him before he could reach it, though.  "My secretary is right outside that door, so going that way is somewhat dangerous.  She has an unfortunate tendency to think that everything is an emergency.  What is most unfortunate is that she is usually right.  I think it would be prudent to take a less obvious route."

With that, he walked over to the bookcase to the left of the door and said, "Plutarch."  The bookcase suddenly collapsed into the floor, revealing a dark, narrow passageway.

"Cool," said James, wide eyed.

Alfred had pulled out his wand and with a simple spell caused the torches along the corridor to light.  It was still quite dark, but sufficiently bright to keep from running into the walls.  James was just about to ask how far they were going when the passageway turned and then abruptly ended.  He almost instinctively obeyed when he heard Alfred say, "Double advance, lunge," instructions James had often heard during his fencing training.  He quickly realized that this was another password as the wall in front of them opened like a door.  They passed through the opening onto a small stone balcony extending into the main rotunda of the Castle.  This was easily the largest room James had ever seen.  The tall, curved wall was a maze of terraces, staircases, and arched entryways in a variety of architectural styles.  Most of them were interconnected, clearly designed to allow people to make their way between the various divisions of the Ministry that were housed in the Castle.  However, a few of the staircases didn't appear to go anywhere in particular, and a number of balconies, including the one they were standing on, didn't have obvious ways of getting on or off.

James turned to his grandfather, who had just finished chatting politely with the pair of swordsmen in the painting that was now covering the entrance to the hidden passageway.  "Don't tell me we have to jump," said James.

"No," laughed Alfred.  "Not if you're careful at least."  With that, he walked to the edge of the platform and two stones extended from the wall below him, forming the beginning of a crude staircase.  As he stepped down onto the first, another step pulled out of the wall.  "Stay close, these stairs don't appear for just anyone," he called back to James, who quickly obeyed.  As they descended, the stairs kept up, appearing a step or two ahead of them and disappearing behind them. James was quite sure he was going to fall any second.  After only a couple dozen steps, they arrived at the landing that housed the entrance to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.  From there, they were able to make their way to the room's floor using less temperamental staircases (although he had the strangest feeling on one of them that its steps were slowly moving backwards).

"Now let's see if we can get out of this building before anyone waylays me," whispered Alfred conspiratorially.  Just as they began to hurry towards an exit however, a stout old man began hurrying towards them.  "Too late," Alfred said under his breath.  He mustered up a cheerful smile as the other man caught up and seized his hand.

"Minister Trajan," said Alfred politely, "what an unexpected pleasure to bump into you."

The Minister of Magic laughed.  "Alfred, when will you be sensible and call me Julius.  No, wait… I know.  As soon as I retire, right?"  Alfred nodded.   "And don't pretend to be glad to see me," the Minister continued.  "I've been rushing around the Ministry putting out fires all day, and not a few people have expressed a certain… dissatisfaction with your absence—as I'm sure you can imagine."

"I've taken the day off to be with my grandson," Alfred relied, putting his hand on the boy's shoulder.  "James was accepted into Hogwarts yesterday and deserves to spend some real time with his grandfather, whose occupation leaves him with very little of it—as I'm sure you can imagine.  My absence was planned; the Ministry should be able to survive a day short one man."

Minister Trajan sighed.  "But the day's events were not foreseeable.  And you know that your entire department falls apart without you."

"That," said Alfred, rather sternly, "is a fact in which I take neither pride nor comfort.  I needn't lecture you on the dangers of leaning too heavily on a single man.  The department _must_ learn to adapt."

"Of course," replied the Minister, whose smile seemed a little more forced than it had been a few moments earlier.  Turning to shake James' hand, he continued, "Congratulations, my boy.  We can certainly use a few more well-trained Potter wizards."

"Thank you, Minister," replied James timidly.

"I don't suppose you'll call me Julius either," whispered the old man deviously.

"No, sir," James said with a small smile.  "I don't think I could."

Julius Trajan sighed, pretending to be bitterly disappointed.  "I'll let you gentleman go then.  Have a pleasant evening."  He then turned and hurried to meet someone else he had spotted across the room.

Without a word, Alfred began walking again, leading James into a wide hall that extended away from the rotunda to the gates of the castle.  It was deserted and echoed loudly.  Apparently nearly all the witches and wizards who entered or exited the Castle did so by more magical means.  When Alfred and James neared the giant double doors at the end of the hallway, they found a small rucksack and a large wooden staff sitting on the ground near the wall.  Alfred told James to remove the robes he was wearing over his clothes and place them neatly by the sack.  Someone would be by later to pick them up.  As soon as they both looked like Muggles again, Alfred then slung the bag over his shoulder, took up the staff, and moved to the great double doors.  There was a great resonating sound as the underused iron hinges creaked open and the portcullis beyond the doors lifted, allowing Alfred and James to pass through.

As they walked out of the Castle and into the open, Alfred turned to James and warned, "Walk slowly and casually.  The Muggle distraction charms will linger for a few moments, but we don't want to do anything that will draw attention to our apparently sudden appearance."

James didn't even see any Muggles as they walked down the hill on which the Castle stood, but he supposed it was best to cautious.  They soon came upon an unpaved, but well-worn road.  "This is the Ridgeway," said Alfred.  "It is one of the oldest roads in the known world.  Thousands of years ago, people walked this very same road.  Tonight, it will quite handily lead us back to the stone circle where we landed this morning.  We've got a ways to go, so we'll have to eat as we walk."  As Alfred began waling west along the road he pulled two apples from his bag and tossed one to James.

They hadn't gone very far when James paused after a bite of his apple and asked, "Weren't you going to tell me about Dragon Hill?"

"Right you are," laughed Alfred.  "Let's see if I can remember it."  He took a thoughtful bite of his apple, and then proceeded with the story, pausing occasionally to chew, or pull out another bit of food, or point out some landmark or impressive landscape.

"Many centuries ago, a cruel and bloodthirsty tyrant king called Vortigern amassed unprecedented power with the help of several formidable wizards, who were as corrupt as he.  Fearful of his many enemies, Vortigern set about constructing an enormous and impenetrable castle from which to govern his lands and attack his neighbours.  The construction of the castle proved impossible, however, as any time real progress was made, they would find it mysteriously destroyed the next morning.  Recognizing some sort of magic at work, Vortigern naturally went to his wizard counsellors for advice.  They hadn't a clue what was causing the destruction, but saw an opportunity to get rid of a dangerous young man, who was incidentally about your age at the time.

You see, several years before, an important and powerful wizard had done what was unthinkable at the time; he had fallen in love with and married a Muggle—and not just any Muggle, a noblewoman.  Shortly after their union, he died quite suddenly.  His widow, sensing danger, went into hiding.  A few months later, she gave birth to a son, whom she named Emrys.  From birth, the boy showed unusual magical potential, frequently causing extraordinary things to happen.  Emrys and his mother were forced to move frequently from village to village, trying to avoid suspicion.  This was all quite hard on the boy, who never stayed anywhere long enough to make any real friends.  He ended up spending a lot of time on his own.  Still quite young, he taught himself to read, and studied every book he could get his hands on.  When he was old enough, Emrys would hire himself out to villagers doing whatever work they could give him to help support himself and his mother.  Whenever possible, he liked tending sheep because it gave him the opportunity to sit in the fields for hours, deep in thought.  Unable to integrate into society, he became a sharp, but detached, observer of human behaviour.

The wide variety of experience, skill, and knowledge he was able to pick up made him unusually wise for his age.  Despite the many attempts to remain anonymous, word eventually spread of a boy, raised without a father and followed by unexplainable events, who could see solutions to seemingly impossible problems.  The mystery, and therefore notoriety, of his story only grew as it was told how he would vanish suddenly from one village only to appear later in another, more obscure village miles away.  As time went on, Emrys had to seclude himself ever more to stay unnoticed.  In the end, however, anonymity proved impossible.

The wizards of Vortigern finally located Emrys just before the king began the construction of his new castle.  They knew that unless the boy was eliminated, he could prove an enormous threat to their positions.  You see, over centuries Muggles had come to see magical folk with a superstitious sense of awe and apprehension, eventually considering them an almost completely separate race.  Knowledge of Muggle-born magicians was carefully guarded and suppressed.  Muggle fear of the supernatural kept wizards and witches untouchable in the many wars and battles.  They might be bribed or coerced, but never directly attacked or threatened.  Emrys' very existence jeopardized their revered, invulnerable status.  If a boy who was noble born _and_ had magical talent came to power, they couldn't possibly control him like they could the other rulers.  Their secure and influential positions might become suddenly obsolete.  Worse yet, if Muggles found out that a powerful wizard could be born with less than pure magical heritage, wizarding blood would become a commodity to be won in war.  Every power hungry nobleman would use any means necessary to infuse his bloodline with magic.  Wizards and witches would suddenly be vulnerable and have to face the horrors of war—horrors that many of them had comfortably supported, encouraged, and even provoked for ages.

The construction of Vortigern's castle gave them the chance to get rid of Emrys without getting their hands dirty, while buying time to find the real cause of the castle's setbacks.  They told the king that the boy's mixed parentage made his magic wild and dangerous.  Vortigern was easily convinced that executing Emrys would not only end the magic that was collapsing his castle walls but also prevent further disasters.

The boy was brought to the castle site, where he was to be executed in Vortigern's presence.  To the horror of his advisors, the king was surprised and impressed by Emrys' tranquillity as he was brought in. Based on the information he had been given, Vortigern had envisioned some sort of degenerate monstonsity—an unnatural child overcome with fits and seizures, requiring a dozen guards just to subdue him.  The young Emrys was the complete opposite, calm and collected, with an imposing air of confidence for such a small person.  The two large guards that flanked the small boy seemed afraid to touch him.  Intrigued, Vortigern gave the boy the chance to offer some last words.

Emrys smiled and told the king that his death would not end the destruction of the castle because his magic was not at fault.  Two enchanted dragons, imprisoned in an underground cavern and locked in fierce combat, were the cause.  The violence of their contest occasionally became so great, it shook the earth above, tumbling the castle walls.  If the king would order his men to dig where Emrys instructed them, they would uncover the cavern and release the dragons, which would inconvenience him no more.

Amused by the young boy's story, but not believing a word of it, Vortigern ordered the dig.  He hoped it would provide him with some additional entertainment.  After nearly an hour of digging, the king grew bored and asked Emrys where his dragons were.  The boy just smiled and, without even turning away from the king to look, pointed to the spot where they were digging.  Just then, a shovel broke through the earth, letting sunlight into the hidden cavern.  The king's workers were thrown back as two enormous dragons erupted from the ground, breaking the small hole wide open.

The giant lizards, now battling in the air, were far from common, even for dragons.  The scales of the first glowed like hot coals and flames trailed from it as it flew.  It turned on its adversary and yelled with a voice like a thousand roaring fires.  The other dragon cried back with the deafening sound of crashing waves.  It appeared to have a hide of ice, which glinted in the sun and was enveloped with a shroud of fog.  As the fierce and thunderous battle was being waged above them, Emrys told the king to watch the fiery dragon carefully because it was an embodiment of tyranny and oppression, and Vortigern would soon share its fate.  At first, the dragon in flames looked to be on the verge of conquering its adversary and king was pleased with the boy's prophecy.  Suddenly, however, the dragon of ice gathered new strength and pierced the other dragon's hide.  Flaming blood from the wound fell to the ground and scorched part of a hilltop—I'll let you guess which one.  The injured dragon was no longer a match for its attacker; the tide of the conflict had turned.  Vortigern became fearful and angry, demanding that the boy reveal the other dragon's identity.  He replied that it embodied the harmony and freedom that Vortigern and men like him nearly wiped out, but which would in time triumph again.

Just as Emrys finished his answer, the dragon of fire was dealt a final icy blow and came crashing to the earth right next to the opening from which it had been released.  The fissure grew wider until it swallowed the dead dragon and all the fallen stones from the castle.  It then closed again so that it was impossible to tell there had ever even been a disturbance in the earth.  Furious, Vortigern ordered his men to kill Emrys, but the entire company was forced to retreat when the victorious dragon came down to defend him.

True to Emrys' prediction, Vortigern was soon vanquished, and his kingdom acquired by a man named Aurelianus.  Emrys became an advisor to the new king and was given leave to construct a castle of his own near the site of the battle between the dragons.  Despite his newfound fame and power, he would often disguise himself and live with common muggles lest he forget his humble beginnings.  With maturity, he learned to control his magical abilities and use them to lead his country to an age of peace.  You know him as Merlin and we have just come from the Castle he built."

James was entranced by the story.  Looking at the brilliant sunset behind the clouds, he could imagine what that battle in the sky must have looked like.  He thought how amazing it must have been to actually see such amazing enchanted creatures.  He had any number of questions about them, but it was clear to him that his grandfather didn't have anything more to tell him.

Before they had walked very much farther at all, they came upon a slight old man holding the reins of two magnificent Arabian horses.  Had James not been able to see that they clearly didn't have horns, he might have mistaken them for unicorns.

The man was visibly relieved when he saw Alfred and James walking towards him.  "Thank 'eavens," he shouted to them when they were still a ways off.  "I was beginning to worry.  Thought maybe som'un was 'aving a laugh at old Charlie's expense.  It's not very often I get a request like this, as you may well imagine.  Two mounts in the middle of nowhere at sunset.  Now I'm a trustin' person by nature, always 'ave been.  Me Missus is always sayin' 'ow that'll ruin me in the end.  But I says to 'er, I says, 'If I treat folk like their rotten, they're like as not to prove me right.  But if I treat 'em like their decent, who knows but what they won't want to disappoint you.'  Now, she'd not let me 'ear the end of it if I came 'ome empty 'anded, so I'll admit I was a bit worried.  But 'ere you are, right as can be, an' I'll 'ave some peace tonight."

James was amazed.  The man hadn't appeared to have taken a single breath as he spoke.  When they reached him, Alfred just stood their smiling, patiently and politely, as Charlie went on.  James couldn' help but smile as Alfred carefully moved his staff out of the man's view and made it disappear.

"I appreciate your providing us with such fine steeds," said Alfred, stroking the larger horse's neck.  "I assure you we'll take good care of…  What are their names?"

This seemed to please Charlie.  "This is Mizar," he said proudly patting the one next to Alfred.  "And this," he continues turning to the other, "is Alcor."

"Their beautiful," said James eagerly.

"That they are, lad," smiled Charlie.  "They're right friendly too… if you treat 'em right.  Not that I'm saying you wouldn't o'course.  You're both decent gents I'm sure.  I'm just a bit protective when it comes to them.  Never 'ad children of me own, you see, so these 'orses are like family to me.  I don't imagine I could bear to rent 'em out if I didn't know they love to be ridden.  I'm gettin' to old to ride 'em myself without my rheumatism givin' me a world of pain.  And it doesn't 'urt that it puts some food on the table… or in the trough as the case may be.  But listen to me, rambling on about nothin' when you want to be on your way.  Let me 'elp you get mounted.  You've both ridden before 'aven't you?  Now that's a daft question.  Of course you 'ave.  This isn't exactly the time or place for a first lesson, now is it?"

James had ridden a few times before, but it had been a while.  The island really wasn't large enough to warrant keeping horses, so there wasn't a lot of opportunity.  He wouldn't have admitted it, but he was a little nervous about riding now; he had a suspicion that all of his previous mounts had been charmed to stay quite calm and docile for him, never moving faster than a slow trot.  Alcor clearly had not been magically subdued.  Holding his horse's reins, he could tell it was literally chomping at the bit to get moving.

When both horse had been mounted and Charlie had checked and double-checked that the harnesses and saddles were secure, he turned hesitantly to James' grandfather.  Looking like he had suddenly remembered something, Alfred pulled an envelope out of his pocket and handed it to Charlie. The man still looked a little unsettled and finally said, "Now there was one thing that I didn't quite understand.  You're going to get to the end of the Ridgeway before I can get the trailer back there to pick them up.  I'd send my stable boy to meet you, except I can't afford one.  I hate to leave you waiting."

Alfred only smiled.  "Not to worry," he said reassuringly.  "Go straight home.  You'll find Mizar and Alcor waiting safely for you there… Trust me."

He turned to James, nodded, and the two of them began riding away.  After a few paces, he whispered conspiratorially to James, "We'd best pick up the pace a bit.  I'd say we have a matter of seconds before Charlie remembers just where he lives and realized that there's no way we can beat him back there on horseback."  With that they both urged their horses on at full gallop.

As they went, James' nervousness quickly melted away as sheer exhilaration overwhelmed it.  It was incredible speeding across the beautiful countryside like that, the horse's mane billowing in front of him.  It was unlike anything he had ever experienced.  This was… this was better than flying, he thought with surprise.  He could continue like this forever.

Alfred let James enjoy the experience in silence; any sound other than the footfalls of the horses would have disturbed the dreamlike tranquillity of the encroaching night.  They rode up and down the rolling hills through empty fields and small collections of trees.  By the time they rode around another castle on a hill, the sun had completely fallen and the stars were clear and bright in the black sky.  James was able to identify a few of the constellations he knew: Ursa Major and Minor, Leo and Draco.  The moon in the southern part of the sky was nearly full.

Although he couldn't even be sure just how long they had been riding, the end came all too soon James.  Alfred let him off the Ridgeway and down another path that took them back to the stone circle.  Here, they dismounted, although James did so only reluctantly.

"Time to send our friends back home," said Alfred.  "If you've said your goodbyes, that is."  James patted Alcor's side sadly before nodding to his grandfather, whose wand was already out.  With a murmured incantation and a flash of light, the horses disappeared and Alfred and James continued on foot.

They quickly reached Alfred's hidden compartment, which he magically opened.  He pulled out James' robes and broom and handed them to him.  They were surprisingly cold, even for having been underground all day.  He was about to say something about it to his grandfather, when Alfred pre-empted him, "They'll warm up quickly enough.  Best not to worry about it."  It was clear he didn't want to discuss it further.

When they had both put on their robes, Alfred closed the earth and they set off into the air.  As dark as it was, they didn't have to avoid Muggle cities and towns and so were able to take a less winding path back towards Cornwall.  Whether flying over the twinkling lights of houses or eventually the reflective ocean, James felt surrounded by stars as he flew.  It was so relaxing that the activities of the day finally began taking their toll on James.  He had to concentrate just to keep his eyes from closing after a while.  His grandfather even had to shout his name once when he began to doze off and started losing altitude.  Fortunately, they made it safely back to the island and Alfred sent him straight to bed.  James made his way to his room half asleep and crashed on his bed without even changing clothes.  It had been a very full day.


End file.
